SERENA  and  SAMANTHA 


ROSA  KELLEN  HALLETT 


.,  OF  C1LIP.  LIBRARY,   LOS 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

BEING  A  CHRONICLE  OF  EVENTS 
AT  THE  TORBOLTON  HOME 


BY 
ROSA  KELLEN  HALLETT 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 


TO 

THE  MEMORY  OF 

MY  BELOVED  MOTHER 

ROSETTA  MESERVEY   KELLEN 

WHOSE  UNFAILING  INTEREST 

IN  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

WAS  THE  SWEETEST  OF  TRIBUTES 


2136169 


The  author  wishes  to  acknowledge 
her  indebtedness  to  the  editors  of 
The  Youth's  Companion  for  their 
kind  permission  to  reprint  the  chap- 
ters of  this  book. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTEB  PAGE 

I  THE  RAYS  or  The  Rising  Sun  .      .        1 

II  THE  BIRTHDAY    .      .      .      .      .      .      12 

III  THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS    ...      23 

IV  MRS.  DODD   RISES  EARLY    ...     34 
V  MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE  ....      44 

VI  THE  SCARLET  CHINA  CRAPE  SHAWL     52 

VII  MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX  ....  62 

VIII  THE  FIRE  WAGON  .  ...  .  .  71 

IX  THE  DAYS  FOR  OLD  GLORY  .  .  .80 

X  THE  INVITATION 86 

XI  THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH  .  97 

XII  THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE  .  .  .  106 

XIII  THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAKES  .      .      .118 

XIV  MRS.  DODD'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE  .      .    127 
XV  THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN    .      .      .    136 

XVI  THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE  .      >      .   146 

XVII  MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY  .      .    155 

XVIII  THE  CHRISTMAS  BLESSING    .             .    166 


CHAPTER  I 
THE  RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN 

IT  was  New  Year's  Day  at  "The  Torbolton 
Home  for  Indigent  Females,"  sunshine  and  azure 
skies  without,  but  within,  gloom  and  dejection. 
In  the  spacious  southwest  front  corner  room  of 
the  second  story,  little  Mrs.  Samantha  Wells  was 
dabbing  wet  blue  eyes  with  a  moist  handkerchief, 
while  her  roommate,  Mrs.  Serena  Dodd,  sniffed 
tempestuously. 

Presently  a  rustle  of  skirts  sounded  from  .the 
corridor,  the  door  was  pushed  open,  and  Miss 
Lydia  Barron,  Mrs.  Dodd's  "Niece  Lyddy  from 
over  to  Holt,"  a  tall,  pink-cheeked  young  woman 
of  thirty,  was  inquiring: 

"Why,  why,  what  is  the  matter?" 

"They've  stopped  the  paper  on  us,  Lyddy," 
gulped  Mrs.  Dodd.  "The  morning  paper,  The 
Rising  Sun,  that  Miss  Timpkins,  our  matron, 
says  has  shed  its  glorious  and  enlightening  rays 
over  this  Home  and  the  inhabitants  thereof  ever 
since  it  was  started.  This  is  how  it  was:  When 
Mr.  Horace  Wimbles — " 

"Who's  he?"  asked  Miss  Barron,  and-  little 
Mrs.  Wells  exclaimed,  wonderingly : 

"O  me !  O  my  !  I  persumed  everyone  through- 
out the  len'th  and  breadth  of  the  land  knew  the 


2  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Wimbleses  and  Wombleses!  Why,  the  very  first 
setback  I  had  from  my  Absalom  was  about  them ! 
'Twas  six  months  and  nine  days  after  we  was 
united  in  matrimony,  and  my  wedding  shoes  was 
nigh  worn  to  the  ground,  and  I  hinted  to  Absa- 
lom would  he  give  me  a  couple  of  York  shillings 
to  have  'em  tapped,  and  he  said, — he  was  a  mite 
fractious,  and  I  sensed  to  oncet  I  hadn't  ought 
to  've  spoke  afore  breakfast, — 'We  ain't  no  Wim- 
bleses or  Wombleses,  Samanthy !'  But  I  spunked 
up,  and  says  I,  'Massy  no !  If  we  was,  I'd  want 
new  shoes  and  not  old  ones  cobbled  up/  And 
Absalom,  he  kind  of  grinned,  and  after  he'd  et 
eleven  hot  Injun-meal  johnny-cakes  well  covered 
with  best  Forty  Reeky  molasses,  he  presented  me 
with  the  two  York  shillings."  Mrs.  Wells  smiled 
happily. 

"We  were  discussing  Mr.  Horace  Wimbles,  Sa- 
manthy," replied  Mrs.  Dodd,  in  lofty  rebuke, 
"His  great-great-great-grandpa  was  in  the 
Founder's  boat — " 

"Beg  pardon,  aunty,"  interrupted  Miss  Bar- 
ron.  "I'm  secretary  of  the  Pioneers'  League, 
and  I  can  reel  off  that  passenger-list  forwards 
and  backwards.  There  wasn't  a  Wimbles 
aboard." 

"For  pity's  sake,  Lyddy  Barren !"  cried  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "Can't  a  body  have  two  grandpas  and 
one  of  'em  not  a  Wimbles?  And  four  great- 
grandpas  and  three  of  them  not  Wimbleses? 
And  eight  great-great-grandpas  and  seven  of 


RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN  3 

them  not  Wimbleses?  And — "  under  her  breath 
— "twice  eight's  sixteen — sixteen  three  great- 
grandpas,  and  fifteen  of  them  not  Wimbleses? 
And  'twas  one  of  them  fifteen  that  was  'What 
Cheered'  at  along  with  Roger  Williams,  and  'twas 
this  one's  only  daughter  that  married  the  first 
Horace  Wimbles."  Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes 
sparkled.  "Got  that,  Lyddy?"  And  as  Miss 
Barren  nodded  meekly,  her  aunt  proceeded: 

"And  her  being  the  one  surviving  offspring, 
Mr.  Horace  Wimbles,  first,  got  all  his  pa-in-law's 
possessions,  the  acres  and  acres  'twixt  the  twin 
rivers  and  three-quarters  of  King  Philip's  Bay 
Islands,  and  they  descended  and  descended  to  pos- 
terity till  they  fetched  up  with  Mr.  Horace  Wim- 
bles, fifth,  and  his  only  sister,  Damaris  Penelope, 
and  then  in  popped  Mr.  Jesse  Wombles  and  cap- 
tured Damaris  Penelope.  So  that  made  the  Wim- 
bleses and  Wombleses,  and  though  Mr.  Horace 
Wimbles,  fifth,  was  the  last  Simon  Poor  Wimbles 
there  was,  Torbolton  folks  got  so  in  the  habit  of 
saying,  'Wimbleses  and  Wombleses,'  zif  they  was 
roast  pork  and  apple  sass  and  mustn't  be  sepa- 
rated, that  there  is  them  that  continner  on  even 
unto  this  day !" 

"Ain't  you  going  to  tell  Lyddy,"  urged  plump 
Miss  Sally  Sloane,  who  had  slipped  in,  unnoticed, 
"how  Mr.  Horace  Wimbles,  fifth,  being  a1  stout 
single  gentleman,  'thout  any  incumbrances,  and 
wearing  a  cocked  hat  and  his  hair  tied  up  in  a 
queue  with  a  silk  ribbon  to  the  day  of  his  death 


4.  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

lived  all  by  his  lonesome  in  this  very  house  that 
Mr.  Horace  Wimbles,  fourth,  built  right  here  on 
the  tippest  top  of  Quinton  Hill?  And  ain't  you 
going  to  tell,"  Miss  Sloane's  voice  shrilled  in  her 
excitement,  "how  Mr.  Horace  Wimbles,  fifth,  told 
my  pa  his  own  self  that  them  two  statoos  out  on 
his  gateposts,  Polly  and  Minnie  Nervy,  used  to 
get  down  and  dance  The  Highland  Fling  about 
the  garden  every  time  they  heerd  the  Old  First 
bells  ring  out  midnight?  And  ain't  you  going  to 
tell—" 

"I  am  if  you  'low  me  the  chancet,"  affirmed 
Mrs.  Dodd,  severely,  "and  leave  me  anything  to 
tell."  She  turned  an  indignant  shoulder  to  Miss 
Sloane  and  resumed,  "When  Mr.  Horace  Wim- 
bles, fifth,  demised,  ninety-odd  years  ago,  he 
willed  this  nice  big  brick  building  to  us  for  our 
Home,  and  all  the  rest  of  his  property  to  the  city 
to  have  and  to  hold  and  to  administer  with  due 
economy.  And  that  same  due  economy  is  the 
lion's  tail  dangling  kind  of  keerless-like  out  of 
the  cage  that  every  passer-by  just  admires  to 
yank  occasional.  For  if  the  city  don't  look  out, 
back  it  may  whisk  to  the  Wombleses,  who've  got 
more'n  a  plenty  already,  still  owning  Damaris 
Penelope's  po'tion,  one-half  all  them  acres  and 
acres  'twixt  the  twin  rivers,  and  one-half  them 
three-quarters  of  King  Philip's  Bay  Islands,  not 
to  mention  an  entire  Adirondack  forest  that  come 
in  by  way  of  our  Mr.  Wombles's  ma,  and  is  how 
he  was  christened  Diedrich." 


RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN  5 

"Mr.  Diedrich  Wombles,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Deme- 
ter  Ford,  who,  with  bashful  Mrs.  Prendergast, 
had  just  trundled  old  Mrs.  Farwell  into  the  cir- 
cle, "belonged  to  my  church.  He  sat  right  on  a 
line  with  me,  though  he  was  on  the  broad  aisle 
and  me  in  a  side  free  pew,  and  'twas  a  real  up- 
lifting sight  every  Sunday  morning  to  view  him 
haul  out  a  gold  piece  from  his  pocket,  and  if  he'd 
been  absent,  two  or  three  or  sometimes  four,  and 
slide  'em  over  the  aidge  of  the  alms-basin  so  mod- 
est you  couldn't  hear  'em  chink  no  more'n  if 
they'd  been  dimes  or  nickels !" 

"And  I  can  bear  further  testimony,"  declared 
little  Mrs.  Wells,  eagerly.  "For  after  my  Ab- 
salom give  up  the  sea  and  took  to  teaming  in 
Torbolton,  he  carted  all  Mr.  Diedrich  Wombles's 
wood,  great  logs  for  the  dozen  open  fireplaces, 
all  the  kindling  for  the  kitchen  stove  and  the 
chunks  to  go  under  the  wash-b'iler.  Cords  on 
cords  of  it  altogether,  and  Mr.  Wombles,  he  never 
disputed  a  bill !  That's  what  my  Absalom  said  he 
called  a  man !" 

"Exactly,"  agreed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "And  there 
ain't  been  the  slightest  bit  of  an  intimation  that 
Mr.  Wombles  ain't  perfectly  satisfied  with  things 
as  they  be.  Howsomever,  the  city  has  stopped 
the  paper  just  the  same." 

"What's  the  city  got  to  do  with  it?"  demanded 
Miss  Barron,  impatiently. 

Mrs.  Dodd  stared  at  her  niece  in  surprise. 
"Why-ee!  Ain't  I  told  you  that  yet?  It's  the 


6  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

city  that  subscribes  to  the  morning  paper  for  us 
out  of  them  hundreds  of  thousands  Mr.  Horace 
Wimbles,  fifth,  left  to  be  administered  with  due 
economy.  But  every  year  after  the  report  of  the 
Wimbles'  bequest  trustees  is  published,  some 
nateral-born  mischief-makers  write  to  the  paper, 
faulting  that  item: 

"  'The  Rising  Sun  for  the  Home  for  Indigent 
Females,  eight  dollars.' 

"What'd  that  first  letter  this  year  say,  Sa- 
manthy  ?" 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  piped  up,  promptly,  "  'Why 
should  the  tranquil  and  serene  pilgrimage  of  the 
venerable  wards  of  the  Torbolton  Home  for  In- 
digent Females  gliding  swiftly  down  the  shadowy 
vale  of  time,  be  j'opardized  by  information  about 
Californy  airthquakes  or  Alabamy  tornadoes,  or 
have  their  tender  feelings  wrung  by  furrin  tele- 
grams about  them  as  have  pounded  their  fingers 
a-nailing  the  Stars  and  Stripes  to  the  north  pole? 
No,  a  million  times,  no !'  said  he.  'How  infinitely 
pre-ferrible  a  soothing  volume  of  the  "Specta- 
tor." He'd  got  one,  he  said,  he'd  sell  cheap." 

"That,"  snorted  Mrs.  Dodd,  "was  the  chip- 
munk in  the  chestnut-bag!  Two  words  for 
'Loyal  Citizen,'  that's  him,  and  one  for  us ! 
'Twas  the  next  one  madded  me  most.  'Mr.  Vokes 
Pop-you-lie.*  He  said  we  ladies  wouldn't  know 
an  English  budget  from  an  American  black  bear 
if  the  pair  of  'em  crawled  up  our  front  path  on 
their  knees  and  pawses  and  pulled  our  front  door 


RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN  7 

bell  and  hollered,  'How  fare  ye,  ladies?'  right 
at  us." 

"I  would,"  quavered  old  Mrs.  Farwell.  "I 
come  from  Maine,  and  down  there  in  my  grand- 
pa's woodlot  up  in  the  'Roostook  them  black  bears 
was  thick  as  spatters,  a-cramming  theirselves  to 
the  brim  with  red  ripe  luscious  rosb'ries." 

"There!"  triumphed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "I  knew  a 
critter  with  a  name  like  that  couldn't  tell  the 
truth!  And  neither  of  them  even  cast  one  little 
sheep's  eye  at  the  next  item  below,  'The  Rising 
Sun  for  the  Home  for  Indigent  Males,  eight  dol- 
lars.' 

"Furthermore  and  to  boot,  likewise,  the  city 
ain't  shut  it  off  on  them  neither,  for  Miss  Timp- 
kins  telephoned  straight  over,  and  the  manager 
himself  answered,  pretty  considerable  uppity, 
'No,  sir-ree,  bob !  Not  by  a  long  chalk !' ': 

Mrs.  Dodd  halted,  a  grim  expression  on  her 
face ;  and  bashful  Mrs.  Prendergast,  dropping 
the  handle-bar  of  old  Mrs.  Farwell's  wheeled 
chair,  gasped: 

"But — -but — they're  men  !  And  of  course  we 
ladies  can't  ever  'spect  to  be  catered  to  like  we 
was  the  superior  sect.  Man  is  always  ahead  of 
woman,  and  my  husband,  Daniel  Webster  Pren- 
dergast— he  was  selectman  forty  years  down  to 
Scatterwitzick — he  said,  the  sooner  ladies  come  to 
a  realizing  understanding  that  they  couldn't 
never  ketch  up,  the  cheerfuller  and  more  con- 
tenteder  they'd  be.  And — and — " 


8 

She  shrank  back  before  the  chilling  gaze  of  her 
auditors,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  groaned  sepulchrally, 
then  remarked,  in  controlled  accents: 

"The  Wombleses,  Lyddy,  being  a  sort  of  high 
connections  of  ours,  we  take  a  parlous  interest  in 
'em  and  peruse  the  paper  faithful  in  hopes  to 
note  all  their  doings,  and  I  calc'late  we  don't  miss 
much.  Why,  I  s'pose  Samanthy  and  me  recol- 
lect the  color  of  Mrs.  Wombles's  honeymoon  bun- 
nit  strings  better'n  she  doos  herself.  They  was 
a  bee-yutiful  shell-pink,  the  pree-cise  shade  of  the 
inside  of  them  two  big  conches  my  Uncle  Darius 
McGay  lugged  home  to  me  from  Afric's  burning 
sands." 

"Oh,  no!"  protested  little  Mrs.  Wells,  mildly. 
"Them  was  her  sister  Orella's,  she  that  wedded 
the  Duke  of  Marmalade.  Mrs.  Wombles's  bunnit 
strings  was  Nile  green.  Don't  you  'member,  Se- 
reny,  they  was  pinned  together  with  an  elegant 
Brazilian  bug  that  matched  to  a  T?" 

"H'm'm!"  grunted  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Well,  I  ain't 
argying!  Anyhow,  Lyddy,  the  oldest  Miss 
Wombles  debutted  last  year  in  a  grand  new  ball- 
room erected  a-puppus !  There  was  Goblin  mys- 
teries hanging  all  around  it,  and  it  had  a  tossel- 
plated  floor  and  a  mahogany  cornish  inlaid  with 
pearls,  and  stained-glass  windows  that  Betty 
Macdonald  and  Nora  O'Hara — they  stood  out- 
side watching  till  after  'leven  o'clock — said 
'peared  just  like  slices  off  the  rainbows  of  Para- 
dise. 


RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN  9 

"And  The  Rising  Sun  had  a  whole  page  about 
the  hahnsome  gowns  and  the  oceans  of  hot  house 
posies  and  everything  there  was  for  supper — sal- 
ids  and  jellies  and  patty defoy  grass.  We  ain't 
never  tasted  that  kind  of  grass,  but  if  it's  any- 
where near  as  dee-licious  as  sparrow-grass — we 
have  that  for  dinner  at  least  twicet  in  the  sea- 
son— "  Mrs.  Dodd  smacked  her  lips  reminiscently 
— "it  must  be  extry  superexcellent !" 

"And  next  week,"  burst  forth  little  Mrs.  Wells, 
"the  oldest  Miss  Wombles  is  to  be  married,  and 
ain't  it  turrible  they've  picked  out  this  partic'lar 
time  to  stop  our  paper?  Though  having  had  all 
them  warnings,"  she  sighed  deeply,  "we'd  ought 
to  been  prepared." 

"What  makes  you  think  it  has  been  stopped?" 
questioned  Miss  Barren. 

"  'Cause  it  didn't  come,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Wells. 
"You  see,  when  the  boy  got  to  the  gate  this  morn- 
ing, I  was  waiting  at  the  stairhead,  and  with  my 
own  two  ears  I  heard  him  say  to  Betty  Macdon- 
ald, — she  was  brushing  off  the  porch — 'There 
ain't  any  paper  for  you !'  " 

Miss  Barren  knitted  her  brows.  "It's  very 
strange,"  she  commented.  "It  would  have  been 
more  courteous  to  notify  you  by  mail." 

"They  did,"  said  Mrs.  Wells.  "I  told  you 
'twas  the  paper  boy.  Girls  ain't  let  to  carry 
papers  in  Torbolton ;  and  he  was  curchus  enough. 
But  facts  is  facts.  He  didn't  leave  us  any  paper. 
O  me!  O  my!  I  wish  my  nephew  Peter  Rawdon 


10  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

was  here.  He'd  go  right  down  town  and  investi- 
gate." 

Miss  Barron  started  up.  "Dear  me,  Mrs. 
Wells,  I  can  do  that!"  But  little  Mrs.  Wells 
shook  her  head  dolefully. 

"I  wouldn't  bother,  Lyddy.  You  ain't  a  man, 
you  know.  Now  if  my  nephew,  Peter  Rawdon — " 

Miss  Lydia  Barren's  heels  were,  however,  al- 
ready clicking  on  the  oak  stairway,  as  the  little 
woman  concluded: 

"Was  only  here !  Oh,  I  wish,  wish,  wish,  wish, 
wish !" 

And  somewhere  it  has  been  stated  that  if 
one  only  wishes  hard  enough  the  wish  will  come 
true;  and  certain  it  is  that  an  hour  later  Peter 
Rawdon  did  march  in,  and  scarcely  had  he  crossed 
the  threshold  before  the  »ad  story  was  poured 
forth,  and  he  was  averring: 

"Bless  my  heart !  This  is  all  wrong !  I'll  step 
down  and  attend  to  it." 

"You  won't  need  to,  Mr.  Rawdon,"  announced 
Miss  Barron,  jubilantly,  from  the  doorway. 
"  'Twas  all  a  mistake.  That  young  scamp  of  a 
newsboy  was  short  one  paper,  and  was  too  lazy 
to  go  back  for  another.  That  was  all  there  was 
to  it.  And  they  advised  about  those  letters  to 
take  them  whence  they  came.  And  here's  a  copy 
of  this  morning's  issue  they  sent  to  you."  She 
thrust  the  crackling  sheet,  pleasantly  redolent  of 
printer's  ink,  into  Mrs.  Wells's  small  fist.  "Good- 
by,  I  must  run  for  my  train." 


RAYS  OF  THE  RISING  SUN          11 

Ten  minutes  more,  and  Mr.  Peter  Rawdon  had 
also  departed;  and  as  the  assembled  company 
munched  blissfully  upon  his  offering  of  marsh- 
mallows,  Mrs.  Dodd  said,  somewhat  indistinctly: 

"Samanthy  Wells,  you  turn  to  that  society 
colyum,  and  read  out  about  that  kitchen  shower 
the  oldest  Miss  Wombles  was  to  be  treated  to  yes- 
terday! Don't  you  skip  a  kettle!" 

It  was  still  New  Year's  Day  at  "The  Torbolton 
Home  for  Indigent  Females,"  sunshine  and  azure 
skies  without,  and  within,  sunshine  and  happy 
hearts ;  for  once  more  The  Rising  Sun  was  shed- 
ding its  glorious  and  enlightening  rays  over  the 
Home  and  the  inhabitants  thereof. 


CHAPTER  II 
THE  BIRTHDAY 

MID-JANUAIIY,  the  weather  still  continuing  fair, 
and  afternoon  at  the  Home.  All  was  very  quiet 
about  the  great  building  except  in  the  matron's 
room,  where  little  Mrs.  Wells  was  chattering, 
excitedly : 

"O  me!  O  my!  But  I've  had  such  a  piece  of 
work  eluding  Sereny  Dodd!  More'n  ha'f  an 
hour  ago  I  turned  down  her  coverlet  for  her 
nap,  but  lie  down  she  wouldn't.  Just  sat  stiff's 
a  ramrod  in  her  big  Boston  rocker,  those  black 
eyes  of  hers  buttoned  wide  open  zif  she  meant 
not  to  close  a  lash  for  forty  year!  But  she 
couldn't  keep  it  up,  and  now  she's  dozed  off,  all 
niddy-nodding ;  and  here  be  I!" 

She  giggled  delightedly;  and  Miss  Timpkins, 
coiling  up  her  hair  before  the  mirror,  smiled 
back  at  the  reflection  of  the  little  woman.  "Yes?" 
she  said,  encouragingly. 

"I've  been  hoping  and  praying,"  went  on  Mrs. 
Wells,  "that  my  nephew,  Peter  Rawdon — he's  not 
my  reaji  nephew,  you  know,  but  was  in  my  Sun- 
day-school class  back  in  '54,  and  always  claims 
me  for  his  aunty — would  happen  in,  and  the  good 
Lord  sent  him  yesterday,  lugging  a  box  of  pep- 
permints. And  when  I  said  to  the  dear  boy, 

12 


THE  BIRTHDAY  13 

'Peppermints  are  excellent,  but  a  leetle  cash, 
Peter — '  he  just  roared,  and  fished  down  into  his 
pockets  and  gave  me  this."  She  held  up  to  view 
a  shining  coin.  "And  I  want  you  should  get 
Sereny  Dodd  a  present  from  me.  'Twill  be  a  sur- 
prise!" Mrs.  Wells  bounced  joyfully  on  the 
chair  on  which  she  was  perched,  her  little  feet 
dangling.  "She  doesn't  know  I've  got  a  penny ! 
To-morrow's  her  birthday — mine,  too.  We're 
just  of  an  age,  seventy -nine  years  since  we  entered 
this  vale  of  woe !" 

"Seventy-nine!"  exclaimed  the  kindly  matron. 
"Why,  I  wouldn't  guess  that  by  nine  years." 

Mrs.  Wells's  face  broke  into  gleeful  radiance. 
"That's  what  Sereny  tells  me,"  she  declared, 
"and  that's  what  I  tell  Sereny.  I  could  take  off 
five  years  more  without  stretching  the  stocking 
a  mite,  if  only  Sereny  hadn't  stouted  up  so  fright- 
ful." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Timpkins,  accepting  the 
proffered  coin,  "what  shall  I  buy?" 

"Soap!"  affirmed  Mrs.  Wells.  "It's  my  one  de- 
sire, Samanthy,'  Sereny  often  says  to  me,  'that 
when  I'm  taken  I'll  be  taken  clean.'  And  I  guess 
she  will,  she's  a  powerful  scrubber.  You  get 
vi'let  soap,  that's  my  f&vor-ite." 

She  slipped  from  the  chair.  "There, '  that's 
off  my  mind!"  And  much  pleased,  Mrs.  Wells 
tripped  away. 

Five  minutes  later,  following  a  rap  at  the  door, 
Mrs.  Dodd  entered,  announcing,  importantly: 


14  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"I've  come  on  business." 

Miss  Timpkins  glanced  toward  the  clock.  "The 
board's  due  at  three,"  she  demurred. 

"That's  all  right,"  asserted  Mrs.  Dodd,  set- 
tling herself  firmly  in  the  chair  just  vacated  by 
Mrs.  Wells.  "There  won't  a  one  of  'em  be  here 
'fore  ha'f-past.  Howsomever,  I  wouldn't've  been 
so  late  if  Samanthy  Wells  hadn't  got  one  of  her 
oneasy  spells.  She's  been  wandering  hither  and 
yon  like  a  ha'nted  sperit;  every  time  I  tried  to 
get  by,  there  she'd  be  a-marching  and  a-counter- 
marching.  But  now  Sally  Sloane's  toled  her  in, 
and  I've  trudged  along  here." 

"I'd  have  come  to  your  room,"  said  Miss  Timp- 
kins. 

"  'Twouldn't  have  done,"  replied  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"She'd  have  known  in  a  minute  something  was 
up.  Why  only  last  night,  I  said,  'Samanthy 
Wells,  if  anyone  told  you  they  was  going  to  deed 
you  sixteen  inches  off  one  of  them  mudflats  we  see 
out  in  the  bay  at  low  tide,  'twouldn't  be  one  toot 
from  Gabriel's  horn  before  you'd  have  the  cellar 
dug,  the  walls  up,  pitch  roof  on  and  folks  moved 
in  and  having  a  house-warming!'  That's  Saman- 
thy— things  open  right  up  before  her." 

Again  Miss  Timpkins  glanced  toward  the 
clock.  "It's—" 

"To  be  sure!"  agreed  Mrs.  Dodd,  cheerily. 
"And  here  I  be,  my  tongue  going  zif  'twas  a  wind- 
mill on  stilts,  galloping  two  ways  to  oncet,  not 
giving  you  the  shadow  of  a  shade  of  a  chance  to 


THE  BIRTHDAY  15 

ask,  'Why  do  ye  so?'  But  I  won't  wait  to  be 
coaxed."  She  opened  her  fist  and  displayed  a  sil- 
ver piece  in  her  palm.  "That's  what  my  niece 
Lyddy  from  over  to  Holt  give  me  for  the  mak- 
ings of  a  new  best  cap,  but  the  other  one  will  last 
a  spell  longer,  and  she  won't  mind  if  I  spend  it 
on  Samanthy.  It's  her  birthday  to-morrow.  It's 
both  our  birthdays.  We're  twins,"  she  stated, 
unctuously. 

Miss  Timpkins,  who  had  been  edging  toward 
the  door,  halted. 

"Twins !"  said  she,  in  great  amazement. 
"Twins !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  frowned,  then  sighed,  "Some  folks 
ain't  any  imagination!  It's  true  as  preaching 
that  I  was  born  in  Chepiwanoxet,  and  Samanthy 
come  by  the  way  of  Quonochontaug,  and  we  never 
clapped  eyes  on  each  other  till  that  May  festival 
they  asked  us  to  the  year  we  was  both  on  the 
waiting  list.  But  we  was  born  the  same  year, 
the  same  month,  the  same  day  of  the  month,  and 
the  same  day  of  the  week,  twins  could  do  no 
more !" 

Miss  Timpkins  laughed.  "Well,  that's  so," 
said  she,  taking  the  money  from  Mrs.  Dodd's 
hand.  "What  shall  I  buy?" 

"Soap!"   said  Mrs.  Dodd.     Then  noticing  the 
matron's     start    of     astonishment,     "Yes,     soap. 
That's    what    I  love — nice    sweet-smelling    soap. 
When   I   was   married,"   she  went  on,   "the  man 
Boldwood  worked  for  sent  me  some  for  a  wedding 


16  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

gift.  'Twas  rose-colored,  rose-scented,  and  the 
box  was  tied  round  with  gold  cord.  I  wish  I  had 
it  now.  But  there,  I  was  young,  and  hadn't  a 
thought  for  the  morrow,  and  used  it  reg'lar  so 
long's  it  lasted.  'Twas  so  pink  and  pretty ! 
'Twas  a  furriner  made  it,  Boys  at  Sea.  I  wonder 
if  you  could  get  some  like  it." 

"One  can  but  try,"  responded  Miss  Timpkins, 
graciously. 

"That's  all,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd.  She  rose  from 
her  chair  and  moved  ponderously  in  the  direction 
of  the  hall.  "Now  I  guess  you'd  better  stiver. 
There's  at  least  two  autos  a-chugging  outside 
this  very  minute." 

Again  it  was  afternoon,  and  in  their  own  sunny 
southwest  room,  Mrs.  Dodd  and  Mrs.  Wells  were 
sitting,  surveying  the  packages  strewn  about, 
packages  in  tissue  paper,  one  tied  up  with  violet 
ribbon  and  a  tiny  bunch  of  violets  tucked  in  the 
bow,  and  one,  so  "pink  and  pretty,"  bound  about 
with  gold  cord  and  "Bois  et  Cie,"  printed  in  gold 
letters  along  its  side. 

Presently  Mrs.  Dodd  spoke  in  sepulchral 
tones : 

"Samanthy  Wells,  I  suspicion  that  Maria 
Timpkins  told!" 

"  'Sh !"  Mrs.  Wells  raised  a  warning  finger. 
There  was  a  tap  at  the  door,  and  the  next  in- 
stant in  walked  the  matron  herself. 

"Well,  well,  but  you've  been  having  a  fine  birth- 


THE  BIRTHDAY  17 

day,"  she  congratulated.  "Why  the  bell's  been 
ringing  all  day  with  presents  for  you." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  slowly,  "it  has."  Mrs. 
Dodd  sniffed. 

"H'm!"  said  she.  "H'm!  Presents!  Such 
as  they  be!"  She  fixed  the  matron  with  bright 
unflinching  eyes.  "I  was  pleased  as  Punch  when 
I  got  the  vi'let  soap  from  Samanthy.  It's  her 
favor-ite,  if  it  ain't  mine.  And  Samanthy  was 
tickled  most  to  death  with  what  I  gave  her,  she 
couldn't  help  it,  it  was  so  pink  and  pretty.  And 
when  Mrs.  Orlando  Waldron  sent  soap,  I  said  to 
Samanthy,  'She's  been  president  of  the  board 
many  a  year,  and  I  do  suppose  she  feels  some  in- 
timate. We'll  let  it  pass.'  But  when  the  soap 
came  from  Mrs.  Frater,  I'll  own  I  conceited  'twas 
crowding  the  mourners.  Still  she  is  vice,  and 
she  means  first-rate,  and  her  husband's  in  that 
line.  And  you  can  take  soap  from  the  bosom  of 
your  family,  your  sister,  so  to  say,  and  your 
friend  and  your  friend's  friend.  But  when  the 
whole  community  stood  up  and  hove  soap  at  us, 
the  attention  was  too  p'inted  for  Sereny  Dodd!" 

She  wheeled  clumsily  about  in  her  chair  and 
gazed  out  upon  the  blue  waters  of  King  Philip's 
bay,  while  Miss  Timpkins  gasped,  in  horror: 

"You  can't  mean  they  all  sent  soap!" 

"They  did  so!"  Like  a  catapult  Mrs.  Dodd 
flung  back  the  words ;  and  Mrs.  Wells  nodded  sol- 
emn confirmation. 

A  hot  flush  mounted  to  the  matron's  temples 


18  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

and  her  voice  trembled.  "I'm  very  sorry,"  she 
began. 

But  Mrs.  Wells  interrupted.  "Sereny !  Se- 
reny!"  she  admonished,  prodding1  with  vigor 
her  companion's  plump  ribs.  "Stop  it,  you're 
hurting  her  feelings." 

The  big  Boston  "rocker"  creaked  around,  and 
once  more  Mrs.  Dodd  confronted  the  matron,  but 
this  time  her  rosy  old  face  was  full  of  contrition. 

"For  massy  sakes !"  she  exclaimed.  "I  wouldn't 
do  that  for  all  the  world  and  the  little  stars 
served  up  in  a  pewter  porringer!  Would 
I,  Samanthy?" 

"Not  if  you  knew  it,  Sereny,"  acquiesced  Mrs. 
Wells,  mildly.  Then  she  added  with  enthusiasm, 
"And,  O  Miss  Timpkins,  she  and  me  have  cooked 
up  an  elegant  scheme!" 

"  'Twas  your  idee,  Samanthy,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"But  you  liked  it." 

"I  did,"  concurred  Mrs.  Dodd,  and  Miss  Timp- 
kins inquired: 

"What  is  it?" 

"It's  to  have  all  the  ladies  in  here  to  spend  the 
evening,"  explained  Mrs.  Wells.  "To  come  as 
soon  as  they  can,  and  stay  as  long  as  you're  will- 
ing. We'd  have  a  splendid  time,  and  before  they 
went,  we'd  give  'em,"  she  pointed  at  the  array  of 
boxes,  "a  souvenir  of  the  occasion,  the  way  they 
do  at  all  the  fine  parties  nowadays." 

"That  is  really  a  beautiful  plan,"  agreed  Miss 
Timpkins,  "and  very  kind  and  generous  and — " 


THE  BIRTHDAY  19 

"Sho!"  said  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Sho!  The  ques- 
tion is,  will  you  let  'em?" 

"I  certainly  will,"  replied  the  matron. 

Then  there  was  prinking!  Spotless  white 
aprons  were  extracted  from  bureau  drawers  and 
tied  in  stiffly  starched  puffy  bows,  best  collars 
were  carefully  fastened  with  huge  cameo  brooches 
or  twisted  gold  breastpins,  and  each  old  lady  as- 
sumed what  was  formerly  the  hall-mark  of  gentil- 
ity, a  tall  back  comb,  some  of  them  "real  tortle," 
and  the  others  a  splendid  imitation. 

And  during  the  supper-hour  Betty  Macdonald, 
the  parlor-maid,  and  Nora  O'Hara,  the  cook, 
collected  the  wonted  chairs  of  the  inmates  and 
carried  them  to  the  room  occupied  by  the  hostesses 
of  the  evening. 

"For,"  said  Betty  Macdonald,  gravely,  "  'as  ye 
sow,  so  shall  ye  reap.'  And  when  I'm  doing  this, 
I  know  I'm  storing  up  comfort  for  my  old  age." 

"And  if  you  don't  live  till  then,"  amended 
Nora,  "you've  made  for  yourself  a  bed  in  Heaven." 

Then  chirruping  as  merrily  as  a  bevy  of  Eng- 
lish sparrows — it  takes  but  little  to  make  the 
very  old  as  well  as  the  very  young  happy — in 
trooped  the  guests,  who,  after  shaking  hands  in 
the  most  dignified  manner  with  Mrs.  Dodd  and 
Mrs.  Wells,  ranged  themselves  about  the  room. 

Peter  Rawdon's  peppermints  were  at  once  por- 
tioned out,  and  soon  all  were  munching  joyfully, 
listening  with  keen  appreciation  to  Miss  Sally 
Sloane — she  had  at  especial  request  brought  her 


20 

accordion — as  she  rendered  with  spirit,  "The 
Spanish  Cavalier,"  and  followed  it  up  with,  "How 
the  Waters  Came  Down  at  Lodore." 

The  last  had  almost  a  personal  interest,  for 
Miss  Sally  had  once  known  a  man  who  knew  an- 
other man  who  really  did  know  the  man  who  made 
it  up. 

Next  Mrs.  Ford,  who  had  been  first  soprano  in 
one  of  Torbolton's  churches  forty  years  before, 
piped  in  thin  sweet  old  treble,  "My  own  mama, 
my  dear  mama,"  and  each  one  of  the  audience 
joined  in  the  refrain: 

"To-morrow  night  at  candle-light,  my  own  mama  I'll 
see !" 

and  each  of  the  faded  old  eyes  grew  moist,  while 
all  felt  that  Mrs.  Dodd  expressed  the  general 
sentiment  as,  dabbing-  her  eyes  with  her  hand- 
kerchief, she  said: 

"We  want  our  mas  at  eighty  just  as  bad  as  we 
did  at  eight." 

But  away  with  melancholy !  Under  Miss  Sally 
Sloane's  skillful  touch  shrilled  forth  the  notes  of 
"Yankee  Doodle,"  and  each  old  foot  was  soon 
jigging  it  or  would  have  been  if  some  had  not 
had  to  favor  lame  knees,  while  Mrs.  Dodd  kept 
time  with  such  energy  that  she  almost  shook  off 
her  "gold  bows." 

To  crown  the  festivity,  old  Mrs.  Farwell,  nine- 
ty-one her  last  birthday,  helpless  in  body  but  ac- 


THE  BIRTHDAY  21 

tive  in  mind,  spoke  her  piece,  "The  Nightingale 
and  the  Glowworm,"  the  piece  learned  and  recited 
in  the  log  schoolhouse,  away  down  in  the  District 
of  Maine,  more  than  eighty  years  before,  and 
urged  on  by  the  applause,  valiantly  began  the 
ballad: 

Young  Lindenshield 

On  bloody  field 

Died   with  disgrace 

To  all  his  race — 

His  uncle's  name  was  Granger  and  he  killed 
him,  that's  all  I  know!" 

Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well,  for  now  the  door 
opened,  and  in  walked  Miss  Timpkins,  beaming 
as  she  cried,  "Many  happy  returns  of  the  day, 
ladies !" 

And  there  behind  her  were  Betty  and  Nora, 
each  bearing  a  tray  all  set  out  with  cake  and  ice- 
cream. 

How  good  it  tasted!  And  then  the  extra  half 
hour  that  had  been  allowed  was  over,  and  it  was 
"Good-night !  Good-night !"  and  each  of  the  com- 
pany had  departed,  hugging  to  her  breast  a  pack- 
age, from  which  emanated  a  sweet  though  soapy 
odor. 

Neither  were  Betty  Macdonald  nor  Nora 
O'Hara  forgotten ;  and,  "There's  enough  to  last 
us  the  rest  of  our  natural  lives.  You  help  your- 
self, Miss  Timpkins,"  exhorted  Mrs.  Dodd,  while 
little  Mrs.  Wells,  clasping  her  small  hands  in 
ecstasy,  cried : 


22  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"O  me !  O  my !  But  isn't  it  perfectly  gee-lorious 
to  be  able  to  make  so  many  folks  in  the  world  glad 
you  were  born!" 


CHAPTER  III 
THEIR   NOBLE   ANCESTORS 

"The  wind  it  doth  blow 
And  we  shall  have  snow!" 

IT  was  two  weeks  since  the  birthday  celebration ; 
the  unwontedly  balmy  weather  of  the  early  win- 
ter had  given  place  to  dreary  skies  and  biting 
frosts,  and  Mrs.  Dodd,  gazing  out  upon  the  leaden 
clouds  driven  by  a  fierce  northeaster  athwart 
King  Philip's  Bay,  uttered  the  prediction 
gloomily,  while  Mrs.  Wells,  sitting  opposite  her 
roommate,  remarked: 

"Good  day  to  stay  put  inside  builded  walls 
like  we  do,  Sereny."  A  moment  later  she  leaned 
forward  and  stared  from  the  window,  exclaim- 
ing, "For  pity's  sake,  if  there  ain't  your  niece 
Lyddy  from  over  to  Holt  a-tripping  it  through 
the  gate!" 

"In  the  very  face  and  eyes  of  a  blizzard!" 
groaned  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"Well,  Lyddy's  young,"  soothed  Mrs.  Wells. 
"I  'spect  you  did  the  same  thing  at  her  age,  Se- 
reny." 

The  front  door  banged,  there  were  steps  on 
the  stairs,  and  Miss  Lydia  Barren  was  greeting, 
"How  do,  Mrs.  Wells?  How  do,  Aunt  Serena?" 

"  'Most  froze,  ain't  you,  Lyddy?"  questioned 
33 


m  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Mrs.  Dodd.  "You'd  better  hug  right  up  to  that 
radiator." 

"No,  thank  you,  aunty,"  responded  Miss  Bar- 
ron.  "It  is  a  little  cold,  but  I  don't  mind  that." 
She  seated  herself,  and  producing  a  notebook 
and  pencil,  explained: 

"I've  come  after  a  little  information.  Every- 
one out  our  way  is  studying  genealogy  and  I've 
caught  the  fever.  What  was  my  grandma's 
maiden  name,  Aunt  Serena?" 

Mrs.  Dodd  stared.  "What  was  your  grand- 
ma's maiden  name!"  she  burst  forth.  "My 
sainted  ma's  maiden  name !" 

"Not  Grandma  McGay,"  protested  Miss  Bar- 
ron.  "Wasn't  I  christened  Lydia  Graham  for 
her?  It's  father's  mother  I'm  talking  about." 

"Oh!  Why  she  was  Thyrzy  Willard." 

"I  know  my  grandma's  maiden  name,"  piped  up 
little  Mrs.  Wells,  eagerly.  "She  was  a  Whitney, 
Etruria  Whitney,  and  she  married  my  grandsir, 
Job  Rand,  he  was  old  Southington  Rand's  grand- 
son— you  ain't  forgot  about  him,  Sereny,  your 
Boldwood's  ma  was  a  Rand — and  my  ma,  Anna 
Rand,  married  John  Bray,  so  I  was  Samanthy 
Bray,  and  I  married  Absalom  Wells,  and  his 
ma—" 

"That's  very  interesting,"  broke  in  Miss  Bar- 
ron,  gently  but  decisively.  "Now,  Aunt  Serena, 
what  was  Grandpa  McGay's  mother's  maiden 
name?" 

"You've   got   me   stumped  on  that   all   right, 


THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS          25 

Lyddy,"  chuckled  Mrs.  Dodd.  "But  I  calculate 
it's  just  as  my  Boldwood  used  to  say,  that  tain't 
necessary  to  know  everything  in  all  creation,  pro- 
vided you  know  where  to  look  for  it.  And  Sereny 
Dodd,  she  doos !" 

She  wheeled  about  in  her  big  Boston  "rocker," 
and  opening  a  pink  satin-striped  box  on  the  top 
of  her  bureau,  took  out  a  time-yellowed  manu- 
script, declaring: 

"Away  back  in  the  fifties,  my  Grandma  McGay, 
your  great-grandma,  her  first  name  was  Easter, 
had  a  bad  fall,  and  whilst  she  was  getting  over  it, 
her  family  took  turns  amusing  her  by  putting 
down  on  paper  all  she  could  remember  about  when 
she  was  a  little  girl,  ampersand.  Here  'tis!" 
Mrs.  Dodd  began: 

"  'In  the  year  1794?  my  father  received  for  his 
services  during  the  Revolutionary  War — he 
fought  clear  through  from  Bunker  Hill  to  York- 
town — a  grant  of  eight  hundred  acres  in  the  then 
District  of  Maine,  one  hundred  for  himself  and 
one  hundred  apiece  for  each  of  his  seven  boys.'  " 

"Where'd  the  girls  come  in?"  asked  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  anxiously. 

"Didn't  come  in  at  all,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"Neither  grandma  nor  one  of  her  six  sisters  got 
an  ioty  of  all  them  acres!  Just  a  good  setting- 
out  when  they  were  married  off, — feather  beds,  all 
the  linen  and  wool  they  could  spin  and  weave,  and 
a  dozen  silver  teaspoons, — but  Great-aunt  Ke- 
ziah,  who  never  was  married  off  and  consequent 


26  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

got  no  setting-out,  lived  around  among  her 
brothers  and  brothers-in-law,  nussing,  washing, 
mending,  tending  babies,  and  not  s'posed  to  earn 
neither  her  salt  nor  her  sugar,  poor  dear  cree- 
tur.  I  tell  you,  Lyddy,"  Mrs.  Dodd  wagged  her 
curly  white  head  solemnly,  "twas  parlous  tough 
times  for  single  spinsters  in  them  days !" 

Miss  Barron  laughed  comfortably.  "I  dare 
say,"  she  admitted.  "But  any  names,  aunty? 
That's  what  I'm  after." 

"  'My  father  was  Price  Llewellyn,'  "  resumed 
Mrs.  Dodd. 

"Price  Llewellyn,"  repeated  Miss  Barron.  Her 
pencil  flew  over  the  page  of  the  notebook.  "Then 
great-grandma  was  Easter  Llewellyn." 

"Naterally !"  Mrs.  Dodd's  tone  was  somewhat 
crisp.  "  'He  married  Delindy  May — '  " 

"Delinda  May,"  interrupted  Miss  Barron. 
"Wait  a  second,  aunty,  till  I  get  that  down." 

But  Mrs.  Dodd's  patience  was  exhausted. 
Petulantly  she  restored  the  manuscript  to  the  pink 
satin-striped  box,  and  thrust  the  latter  toward 
Miss  Barron. 

"Here,  Lyddy  Barron!  You  take  it  and  keep 
it  till  you've  picked  out  all  them  names  you're 
so  ferce  about !" 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Aunt  Serena !"  cried  her 
niece.  "It's  splendid  of  you  to  let  me  have  it." 
And  with  a  gay,  "I'll  be  round  again  to-morrow 
morning,"  Miss  Lydia  Barron  blithely  marched 
forth  into  the  gray  day  where,  to  prove  Mrs. 


THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS  27 

Dodd  a  true  prophet,  a  few  stinging  snowflakes 
were  fluttering  earthward. 

Soon  the  storm  increased,  one  could  not  see 
across  the  avenue  for  its  density,  and  there  was 
raging  what  Torbolton's  old  sailor  folk  call  a 
"living  gale,"  with,  according  to  The  Rising  Sun, 
"telephone  and  telegraph  wires  down  in  all  di- 
rections and  electric  car  service  thoroughly  de- 
moralized." 

But  by  midnight,  the  snow  had  ceased  to  fall, 
the  hurricane  had  blown  itself  out,  and  it  was  a 
calm  white  world  upon  which  Mrs.  Dodd  and  Mrs. 
Wells  looked,  when,  after  breakfast,  they  seated 
themselves  at  their  respective  windows  to  survey 
the  scene. 

"Not  a  car  running,"  asserted  Mrs.  Wells,  with 
fearful  joy,  "don't  believe  Lyddy'll  be  here  to- 
day." But  Mrs.  Dodd  was  lifting  a  warning  fin- 
ger. 

"I  hear  one  afar  off,"  she  announced. 

Sure  enough,  presently,  slowly  clanging  along 
the  rails,  came  a  car,  "first  one  over  the  route." 
It  halted  before  the  Home,  and  a  tall  bundled-up 
figure  alighted  and  began  to  plough  its  way  up 
the  broad  path,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  and  Mrs.  Wells 
gasped  in  chorus: 

"Lyddy  Barren !" 

And  Mrs.  Dodd  vaunted,  "McGay  spunk  there 
all  right!" 

Miss  Barren  was  aglow  with  enthusiasm  as  she 
entered  the  southwest  front  corner  room  of  the 


28  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Home.  "O  aunty,"  she  exclaimed.  "I  stopped 
at  the  library  yesterday,  and  hunted  through 
books  and  books  and  books,  and  at  last  in  one 
of  them  it  said  that  Price  Llewellyn  was — " 
she  paused  impressively. 

"Was  what,  Lyddy?"  faltered  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"Maybe  you'd  best  not  hunt  no  further,  Lyddy ! 
Let  sleeping  dogs  lie  still  if  they  will,  is  my  motto  ; 
though  far's  I  know,  our  forebears  was  respect- 
able—" 

"  'Tisn't  that,"  Miss  Barron  said,  smiling  loft- 
ily. "Dear  me !  Any  one  can  be  respectable,  but 
we  are  royal!  Price  Llewellyn  was  descended 
from  Edward  the  First,  King  of  England,  Scot- 
land, Ireland,  a  part  of  France  and  Conqueror  of 
Wales !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  blinked.  "Are  you  sure,  Lyddy? 
There  ain't  to  my  knowledge  ever  been  any  Ed- 
wardses  in  the  family ;  not  but  there  is  awful  nice 
Edwardses,  the  preacher  Jonathan — " 

"It  wouldn't  have  been  Edwards,  anyway,"  in- 
terposed Miss  Barron.  "If  we'd  been  lucky 
enough  to  have  been  in  the  male  line  'twould 
have  been  Plantagenet,  but  as  'tis,  we're 
descended  from  a  daughter,  her  brother 
was  first  Prince  of  Wales,  and  her  son's 
daughter's  son's  daughter  married  a  Llewellyn 
and  emigrated  to  America.  That's  all  I've 
found  out,  but  I'm  going  straight  to  the 
library  now  and  I'll  keep  you  posted.  Good-by, 
good-by!" 


THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS          29 

As  the  door  closed  behind  Miss  Barron,  little 
Mrs.  Wells  beamed  radiantly. 

"You  ain't  an  idee  how  tickled  I  be,  Sereny!  I 
never  darst  to  let  on  before  for  it  seemed  zif  I 
must  be  turrible  stuck-up,  but  my  Grandma  Bray's 
great-grandma  was  a  noble  English  lady,  daugh- 
ter of  a  noble  English  earl  who  ran  away  with  a 
humble  forester  of  Epworth  Heath,  and  fled  over 
here  and  learned  to  milk  the  cows  and  churn  the 
butter  with  her  own  fair  hands." 

"That's  fine !"  condescended  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Then 
you  and  me  are  sort  of  on  equal  terms,  though 
of  course  my  royal  grandpa,  Edward  the  first, 
King  of  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  a  part  of 
France  and  Conqueror  of  Wales,  also  the  father  of 
the  first  Prince  of  Wales — I'll  get  Lyddy  to  track 
out  how  near  kin  I  am  to  this  one  soon's  she  can — 
is,"  complacently,  "a  cut  higher!" 

"But,"  objected  little  Mrs.  Wells,  hurriedly, 
"you  ain't  heerd  all  yet,  Sereny !  Grandma 
Bray's  other  grandma's  pa  was  Lord  High  Sheriff 
of  Salisbury  Plain  or  Cathedral — Grandma  Bray 
never  could  recolleck  which — and  he  sailed  all  to 
oncet  with  his  eight  apprentices,  eleven  children 
and  his  true  and  loving  wife,  each  of  'em  with  a 
belt  of  red  gold  buckled  around  their  waists." 

"What  become  of  all  that  red  gold?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Dodd,  excitedly,  and  little  Mrs.  Wells,  wav- 
ing her  small  hands  to  and  fro,  answered,  "It 
went,  it  went !  Here  a  little  and  there  a  little !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  nodded  with  perfect  comprehension. 


30  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"Boldwood's  folks  were  just  like  that,  too.  Owned 
the  entire  shore  from  Pint  Judy  to  the  Pier,  and 
whenever  they  honed  for  a  fur  overcoat  or  a  sum- 
mer at  Saratogy,  off  they'd  sell  a  slice  of  the 
water-front,  till  behold,  the  whole  cake  was  et  up 
and  not  a  crumb  left  for  my  Boldwood!" 

"After  me,  the  deluge !"  remarked  Mrs.  Wells. 
"Still  things  always  might  be  worser.  For  in- 
stance, I  ain't  never  had  a  chance  to  discourse 
free  about  my  noble  ancestors  before.  Absa- 
lom's topnotchest  was  only  Town  Sergeant  of 
Hartford,  and  if  I  mentioned  just  real  keerless- 
like  about  my  noble  lady  grandma  or  my  grandpa, 
Lord  High  Sheriff  of  Salisbury  Plain  or  Cathe- 
dral— Grandma  Bray  never  could  recolleck  which 
— he'd  grit  his  teeth  and  glare  out  of  the  win- 
dow, even  if  the  blinds  were  shut  and  the  curtains 
pulled  clean  down  to  the  sill.  My  poor  Absalom ! 
That  was  the  one  and  only  unkind  thing  he  ever 
done !" 

But  Mrs.  Dodd,  surveying  her  rosy  old  counte- 
nance in  the  mirror,  was  murmuring,  rapturously, 
"My  royal  grandpa !  Edward  the  First,  King  of 
England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  a  part  of  France 
and  Conqueror  of  Wales,  also  father  of  the  first 
Prince  of  Wales!  Guess  I'll  coax  Lyddy  to 
seek  out  the  old  gentleman's  picter.  'Twould  be 
some  pleasing  if  it  turned  out  I  favored  him!" 

"So  'twould,"  agreed  Mrs.  Wells,  and  in  sweet 
converse  upon  the  congenial  topic,  the  next  few 
hours  passed  quickly. 


THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS          31 

It  was   four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  a 
message  was  brought  that  someone  wished  to  see 
Mrs.  Wells  in  the  lower  hall.     Presently  the  little 
woman  returned,  carrying  a  basket,  and  at  her 
heels,  Betty  Macdonald,  proclaiming : 
"Special  delivery  for  Mrs.  Dodd!" 
As   the  maid  retired,  Mrs.  Dodd  said,  gayly, 
"It's  from  Lyddy!     Like  enough  she's  unairthed 
another  batch  of  peers  and  peeresses !"     She  tore 
open  the  envelope  and  read  aloud: 

"DEAR  AUNT  SERENA:  It  seems  upon  further  in- 
vestigation that  there  were  two  Price  Llewellyns, 
both  alive  at  the  same  time  in  the  same  township,  and 
both  very  nearly  the  same  age,  one  marrying  Belinda 
May,  the  other  Hannah  Unknown.  The  Price 
Llewellyn  who  was  descended  from  Edward  the  First, 
King  of  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  a  part  of  France 
and  Conqueror  of  Wales — " 

Mrs.  Dodd  rolled  the  titles  upon  her  tongue. 

"Being  also,  as  perhaps  you  may  recall,  the  father 
of  the  first  Prince  of  Wales,  was  not — " 

"N-o-t,"  spelled  Mrs.  Dodd,  perplexedly. 

"Was  not  our  grandfather,  Price  Llewellyn,  who 
married  Belinda  May,  but  the  other  one  who  married 
Hannah  Unknown — " 

For  a  long  moment  Mrs.  Dodd  eyed  the  letter 
incredulously ;  then,  throwing  it  down,  she  mut- 
tered, in  wrathful  accents: 


32  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"I  don't  care!  I  don't  care  a  leather  button! 
Samanthy !  Samanthy !"  She  addressed  her  com- 
panion. "The  balloon's  bust!  Squashed  like  a 
puff-ball !  And  Sereny  Dodd's  of  noble  blood  no 
more !" 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  gazed  back  at  her  roommate 
from  mournful  soft  blue  eyes. 

"Neither  am  I,  Sereny,"  she  dolorously  affirmed. 
"  'Twas  my  nephew,  Peter  Rawdon,  wanted  me 
downstairs.  He  fetched  me  these  Sheldon  pears 
— said  they  was  just  in  their  prime  now — and  I 
up  and  bragged  a  mite,  just  a  teeny-weeny  mite, 
Sereny,  about  my  noble  ancestors.  And  Peter, 
he  said,  just  as  affable,  as  affable,  but  firm,  that  if 
he  was  me,  he  wouldn't  bank  any  on  it,  that  noble 
ladies  never,  never  run  away  with  humble  foresters 
of  Epworth  Heath,  that  it  must  have  been  a  fairy 
tale  that  Grandma  Bray  was  relating,  only  I  was 
too  little  to  realize. 

"And  as  for  the  Lord  High  Sheriff  of  Salis- 
bury Plain  or  Cathedral — Grandma  Bray  never 
could  recolleck  which — Peter  Rawdon,"  Mrs.  Wells 
enunciated  very  slowly  and  with  quivering  lips, 
"he  said  he — had — his — doubts!"  The  little  wo- 
man sighed.  "I  tell  you  what,  Sereny  Dodd,  I'm 
going  to  miss  my  noble  lady  grandma  and  my 
grandpa,  Lord  High  Sheriff  of  Salisbury  Plain 
or  Cathedral — Grandma  Bray  never  could  recol- 
leck which — after  cherishing  them  in  secret  all 
these  years !" 

"And  me,  my  royal  grandpa,  Edward  the  First, 


THEIR  NOBLE  ANCESTORS          33 

King  of  England,  Scotland,  Ireland,  a  part  of 
France  and  Conqueror  of  Wales !"  lamented  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "Howsomever,  I  didn't  have  him  long 
enough  to  get  so  awful  much  attached  to  him, 
and  as  the  proverb  is,  'There's  no  great  loss  'thout 
some  small  gain.'  And  though  we've  lost  an 
earl,  a  lord  high  sheriff  and  a  king  betwixt  us, 
still  you've  gained  a  whole  basketful  of  fruit — 
half  a  peck,  I  calc'late,  'cording  to  its  looks, — and 
you  know  what's  printed  on  our  calendar  for  to- 
day: 

Kind  hearts  are  more  than  coronets. 

Let's  prove  it !  S'posen  you  spunk  up,  Samanthy, 
and  step  out  and  invite  in  the  other  ladies  and 
treat  us  all  around  to  a  Sheldon  pear!" 


CHAPTER  IV 
MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY 

THE  dawn  of  a  cold  February  morning  was  ap- 
proaching, and  the  snow  glittered  palely  on  Tor- 
bolton's  seven  hills  under  the  rays  of  the  waning 
moon.  King  Philip's  Bay  was  frozen  from  shore 
to  shore,  save  where  a  dark  streak  of  water  indi- 
cated the  channel  kept  open  for  the  bay  craft  by 
a  bumptious  little  tug  that  snorted  importantly 
to  and  fro  every  hour.  Upon  Quinton  Hill  the 
milk  wagons  had  begun  their  rounds.  One  halted 
at  the  Home  gate,  and  the  driver,  springing  out, 
dashed  around  the  path,  set  down  the  wire  rack  of 
bottles  and  scurried  back  to  his  horses  shouting, 
"Giddap!  giddap!" 

The  stentorian  adjuration  floated  up  through 
the  open  windows  of  the  southwest  front  corner 
room  of  the  Home  and  Mrs.  Serena  Dodd  stirred, 
opened  her  black  eyes  sleepily,  yawned  and  dozed 
off  again.  Soon  there  were  cautious  tiptoeings 
along  the  corridor  and  the  lower  part  of  the  house 
began  to  waken  into  life.  Nora  O'Hara  clattered 
the  covers  of  the  kitchen  range,  Betty  Macdonald 
vigorously  whirled  the  handle  of  the  coffee-mill, 
and  the  college  boy,  who  "tends  the  furnace," 
stamped  the  snow  from  his  boots  on  the  outside 

porch.     A  moment  later  he  had  marched   down 

34 


MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY  35 

the  cellar  stairs  and  was  crashing  wide  the  drafts 
of  the  heater,  and  once  more  Mrs.  Dodd  was 
aroused  from  her  slumbers.  She  sniffed  the  keen 
air  disapprovingly,  and  peering  over  the  edge  of 
the  bedclothes  at  her  roommate  peacefully  sleep- 
ing in  her  little  white  cot,  scolded  under  her 
breath : 

"Ought  by  rights  to  make  Samanthy  Wells 
get  up  and  shut  them  windows !  Massy  knows 
'tain't  me  that's  honing  for  all  the  fresh  air  that's 
going.  Howsomever,"  relentingly,  "my  Boldwood 
always  said,  'O  sleep,  thou  art  a  sacred  thing!' 
And  I  guess — "  She  crept  from  between  the 
sheets  and  shivering  across  the  floor  quietly  low- 
ered the  windows,  and  hastening  back  to  bed,  snug- 
gled down  under  the  blankets  to  await  the  warm- 
ing of  the  room  of  which  the  punkety-punk  of  the 
radiators — an  innovation  since  Mr.  Horace  Wim- 
bles's  time — was  giving  liberal  promise. 

At  length  the  grandfather's  clock  on  the  land- 
ing, the  clock,  above  whose  dial  limned  in  gold 
upon  a  sky  of  azure  were  the  sun,  the  moon,  the 
planets,  and  most  of  the  lesser  constellations, 
chimed  melodiously,  "One,  two,  three,  four!  One, 
two,  three,  four !"  and  Mrs.  Dodd  murmured : 

"Half  past  six !  It's  warm's  toast  now.  Mebbe," 
joyously,  "Sereny  Dodd'll  have  time  to  lay-out  her 
African  if  she  gets  up  immejiate."  So  saying, 
she  stepped  out  upon  the  rug  at  her  bedside. 

She  moved  slowly  and  another  quarter  sounded 
while  she  was  dressing,  and  as  she  completed  the 


36  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

making  of  her  bed  by  patting  her  pillow  into  place, 
the  fourth  quarter  rang  out  followed  by  the  strik- 
ing of  seven  o'clock.  Then  the  Japanese  gong  in 
the  lower  hall  pealed  loudly  under  the  manipula- 
tion of  the  capable  hands  of  the  matron,  and  little 
Mrs.  Wells's  soft  blue  eyes  flew  wide  to  regard 
Mrs.  Dodd  amazedly. 

"O  me !  O  my !"  she  exclaimed,  "Ain't  you  aw- 
ful smart  rising  it  up  while  it  is  yet  night,  the 
way  you  must  have  to  be  all  clothed  and  in  your 
right  mind  like  that.  But,  Sereny,"  as  her 
gaze  fell  on  Mrs.  Dodd's  bed  all  made  up,  "Miss 
Timpkins  won't  like  it  worth  one  copper  cent 
your  making  up  your  bed  'thout  airing  it  longer !" 

"Don't  approve  of  it  myself  in  a  general  way, 
Samanthy,"  acknowledged  Mrs.  Dodd,  "but," 
with  dignity,  "this  morning's  diffrunt.  There's 
good  and  excellent  reasons.  And,"  a  trace  of 
acerbity  in  her  tones,  "if  Miss  Maria  Timpkins 
ain't  informed  by  no  one — " 

"She  won't  be  informed  by  me,"  protested  Mrs. 
Wells,  "if  that's  what  you're  hinting  at,  Sereny !" 

"Well,  I  s'pose  not,  Samanthy,"  admitted  Mrs. 
Dodd,  "but  the  fact  is  I  calc'late  to  lay  out  my 
stripes  afore  breakfast!  You  know  I  bound  off 
the  last  one  yesterday  so  my  African  is  finished 
complete  all  but  sewing  it  together  and  crochet- 
ing a  scalloped  aidge  along  both  ends  and  I'm 
going  to  taykle  that  to-day." 

Knitting  was  Mrs.  Dodd's  favorite  occupation, 
and  when,  "away  back  in  the  fall,"  Mrs.  Orlando 


MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY  37 

Waldron,  the  president  of  the  board  of  managers, 
had  asked,  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  knit  me  an  af- 
ghan?"  Mrs.  Dodd  had  answered  with  fervor: 

"  'Deed  and  'deed  and  double  'deed  would  I, 
ma'am !  Only,"  pleadingly,  "don't  send  me  none 
of  them  fady  art-and-stick-to-it  colors!  They 
ain't  no  thing  of  beauty  nor  joy  forever  to  Sereny 
Dodd.  She,"  with  conviction,  "deespises  'em!" 

And  the  gay-hued  rolls  that  Mrs.  Dodd  now  pro- 
duced from  the  bureau  drawer  and  spread  out  one 
by  one  on  the  white  counterpane  showed  that  Mrs. 
Waldron  had  respected  Mrs.  Dodd's  taste  in  the 
matter. 

She  surveyed  the  seven  stripes  laid  out  before 
her  and  affirmed,  happily,  "Sereny  Dodd  doos  just 
love  that  scarlet  and  canary  yellow  and  salmon 
pink  and  the  orange,  and  though,"  hesitatingly, 
"the  blue  and  the  green  and  the  purple  wouldn't 
never  been  her  real  ch'ice,  I  s'pose  they  ain't  to 
be  sneezed  at!" 

"They're  all  elegant,"  exulted  little  Mrs.  Wells 
who  had  slipped  from  her  white  cot  and  was  hur- 
riedly scrambling  into  her  clothes,  "and  you're 
going  to  let  me  help  you  harmonize  'em,  ain't  you, 
Sereny?  And  I'll  thread  all  the  needles  for  you, 
worsted  'em,  I  'spect  I  ought  to  say,"  she  gig- 
gled, "can't  I,  Sereny?  For  that  won't  prevent 
your  claiming  you  done  every  individooal  stitch 
with  your  own  ten  fingers  and  thumbs!" 

Mrs.  Dodd  nodded  smiling  acquiescence,  and 
presently,  the  Japanese  gong  again  reverberating 


38  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

through  the  house,  the  two  women  trudged  down 
the  stairs. 

"Somehow  or  'nother,"  asserted  Mrs.  Dodd, 
reflectively,  as  she  languidly  put  one  pudgy  foot 
before  the  other,  "seem  zif  I  felt  turrible  logy 
to-day !" 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  contemplated  the  speaker, 
then  remarked: 

"I'm  kind  of  half  impressed  myself,  Sereny, 
that  mebbe  you're  putting  on  flesh.  Don't  you 
think,"  she  hazarded,  "that  p'raps  you're  eating 
a  leetle,  just  a  leetle  too  much?  You  might  begin 
by  leaving  off  something  each  day.  F'rinstance, 
it's  baked  apple  and  cream  morning.  You  might 
eat  the  apple  'thout  the  cream." 

"I  might,"  concurred  Mrs.  Dodd,  "to  be  sure, 
I  might,  but,"  she  swung  around  the  newel  post 
on  the  first  floor  and  started  eagerly  for  the  din- 
ing-room, "I  guess  I  won't  begin  to-day." 

It  was  evening,  and  at  the  striking  of  the  hour 
of  nine,  Mrs.  Dodd  avowed,  wearily: 

"What  'twixt  harmonizing  all  them  colors  and 
the  opinions  of  everybody  in  all  creation,  Sereny 
Dodd's  tired  'most  to  death  and  will  retire  instan- 
ter." 

"So'll  I,  Sereny,"  agreed  Mrs.  Wells,  and  five 
minutes  after,  being  a  nimble  little  body,  she  was 
settled  in  her  bed,  interestedly  watching  her  room- 
mate's more  deliberate  movements. 

Mrs.  Dodd  took  off  her  cap  and  laid  it  on  the 
bureau,  and  unpinning  her  breastpin,  thrust  it  into 


MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY  39 

the  cushion.  Removing  the  counterpane,  she 
folded  it  and  placed  it  on  a  chair,  turned  down 
blankets  and  sheet  and  reached  under  her  pillow 
for  her  nightdress.  It  was  not  there.  She  lifted 
the  pillow  and  felt  vaguely  over  the  surface  be- 
neath it,  but  in  vain. 

"Where's  my  nightgown?"  she  questioned,  be- 
wilderedly. 

"Why,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Mrs.  Wells. 
"Isn't  it  under  your  pillow?" 

"No,  and  if  you've  taken  it  for  a  joke — "  fumed 
Mrs.  Dodd. 

"Of  course  I  haven't.  I  guess  you  made  it  up 
in  your  bed  this  morning." 

"Oh,  so  I  might."  Mrs.  Dodd  stripped  down 
the  clothes  from  the  couch,  but  the  missing  article 
did  not  appear. 

"Look  under  the  mattress,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Wells.  "Don't  you  remember  the  day  you  turned 
your  petticoat  under  the  mattress?" 

"I  didn't  turn  it  at  all  to-day.  I  was  in  such 
a  hurry,"  confessed  Mrs.  Dodd. 

She  began  to  spread  up  the  clothes  and  Mrs. 
Wells  sprang  out  of  bed,  saying,  "Let  me  take  one 
side.  It  doesn't  seem,  Sereny,"  she  smiled,  "zif 
you  got  ahead  much  making  this  up  'fore  break- 
fast." 

The  rules  of  the  house  were,  "Lights  out  and 
inmates  in  bed  at  nine-thirty."  It  was  now  ten 
minutes  later,  and  Miss  Timpkins  stood  at  the 
door. 


40  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Dodd  did  not  speak,  but  Mrs.  Wells,  who 
had  jumped  into  bed  again,  explained,  "She's  lost 
her  nightgown!" 

"Nonsense,"  cheerfully  responded  Miss  Timp- 
kins,  "you  couldn't  lose  your  nightgown  in  one 
room  like  this."  She  picked  up  the  pillow,  looked 
under  it  and  into  it,  and  with  vigorous  hand 
stripped  the  bed,  saying,  "You've  made  it  up  in 
the  bed." 

Mrs.  Dodd  parted  her  lips,  but  Mrs.  Wells 
shook  her  head  warningly. 

"Maybe  you've  turned  it  under  your  mattress, 
just  as  you  did  your  petticoat  last  month,"  pur- 
sued the  matron,  briskly  throwing  over  the  mat- 
tress. 

"I — "  began  Mrs.  Dodd,  but  another  look  from 
her  roommate  kept  her  silent. 

"Well,  it  isn't  around  your  bed  surely,"  an- 
nounced Miss  Timpkins,  and  she  gazed  upward 
as  if  expecting  to  see  it  on  the  ceiling. 

"You  haven't  got  it  on,  have  you,  Mrs.  Wells  ?" 
she  queried.  "Probably,"  with  an  accent  of  re- 
lief, "you've  got  Mrs.  Dodd's  on,  and  yours  is 
under  your  pillow." 

"Me,  Miss  Timpkins!"  remonstrated  Mrs. 
Wells.  "It  takes  four  yards  to  make  me  a  night- 
gown, and  it  takes  ten  for  Sereny.  Look !"  she 
once  more  jumped  from  her  bed  and  held 
her  nightdress  out  as  a  little  girl  does  her  frock 
at  dancing  school.  "Don't  you  want  to  pull  my 


MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY  41 

bed   to  pieces?"    she   asked,  with   mild   sarcasm. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Miss  Timpkins,  "that's  a 
good  idea,"  and  she  promptly  acted  upon  it  to 
Mrs.  Wells's  rather  indignant  amazement,  but 
without  results. 

"It  was  one  of  my  two  new  ones,"  lamented 
Mrs.  Dodd.  "My  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to  Holt 
sent  it  to  me  for  Christmas.  They  was  trimmed 
with  torchon,  the  first  ones  I  ever  had  trimmed 
with  torchon  I"  she  wailed. 

"What's  going  on?"  called  Miss  Sally  Sloane, 
hastening  from  her  room  across  the  hall. 

"Mrs.  Dodd  has  lost  her  nightgown,"  replied 
Miss  Timpkins. 

"Was  it  one  of  those  your  niece  Lyddy  give 
you?"  asked  Miss  Sloane. 

"Yes,  it  was,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Dodd,  "all  trimmed 
with  torchon !" 

"I  think,"  interposed  the  matron,  "we  won't 
hunt  any  more  to-night.  You'd  better  get  a 
clean  one.  We'll  find  the  other  to-morrow." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  put  on  a  clean  one,"  ob- 
jected Mrs.  Dodd.  "I  always  wear  my  night- 
gowns week  and  week  about,  and  if  I  get  on  a  clean 
one  now,  it  will  mix  me  all  up  so's  I  shan't  know 
which  from  'tother." 

"But  what  will  you  do?"  gently  inquired  Miss 
Timpkins. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd  and  wailed 
afresh. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  offered  good-natured  Sally 


42  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Sloane,  "I'll  lend  her  one  of  my  nice  print  bed- 
gowns. I've  got  an  extra  supply."  And  she 
waddled  away. 

"I  never  wore  a  print  bedgown  in  all  my  life!" 
rebelled  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"There  has  to  be  a  first  time  to  everything,  Mrs. 
Dodd,"  said  Miss  Timpkins,  soothingly.  "And 
Miss  Sally's  the  only  lady  in  the  house  that  has 
one  that  will  fit,  and  I  don't  see  what  else  you 
can  do  if  you  don't  wish  to  get  your  own  clean 
one.  Now  you  undo  your  waist  and  I'll  slip  off 
your  shoes  and  stockings." 

Mrs.  Dodd  fumbled  awkwardly  at  the  hooks 
and  eyes  of  her  bodice,  and  Miss  Timpkins, 
straightening  up  a  few  minutes  later  to  assist 
the  old  fingers,  commented,  pleasantly: 

"Why,  Mrs.  Dodd !  You're  stouting  up !  We'll 
have  to  see  about  a  new  waist  for  you  before  long." 
And  Mrs.  Dodd,  brightening,  declared : 

"It's  all  in  the  contract,  'Boarded  and  lodged 
and  suitably  clothed.' ' 

Miss  Timpkins  threw  back  the  waist  upon  Mrs. 
Dodd's  plump  shoulders,  then  pulled  it  off  her 
still  plumper  arms.  She  halted  staring,  but  after 
a  second's  delay,  proceeded  to  unfasten  Mrs. 
Dodd's  skirts  and  dropped  them  on  the  floor. 

"I  guess  you  can  get  right  into  bed,"  said  she, 
and  there  was  a  note  of  repressed  amusement  in 
her  voice. 

Mrs.  Dodd  plucked  confusedly  at  throat  and 
wrists  and  crept  between  the  sheets  without  utter- 


MRS.  DODD  RISES  EARLY  43 

ing  a  word.  Miss  Timpkins  gathered  up  the  old 
lady's  apparel  and  laid  it  across  a  chair,  and 
called,  "Never  mind  the  gown,  Miss  Sloane.  Mrs. 
Dodd  doesn't  need  it,  after  all.  Good-night,  Mrs. 
Wells.  Good-night,  Mrs.  Dodd!"  She  turned 
out  the  light  and  left  the  room. 

As  the  door  closed  Mrs.  Wells  rose  noiselessly 
up  in  bed  and  in  tones  of  rapturous  comprehen- 
sion exclaimed,  "O  Sereny  Dodd,  you've  had  your 
nightgown  on  all  day !" 


CHAPTER  V 
MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE 

IT  was  a  quiet  day  at  the  Home ;  not  a  Sunday, 
for  then  the  minister  would  have  been  down- 
stairs giving-  his  Sabbath-day  talk,  and  the  glee- 
club  from  the  college  on  the  hill  singing  "Corona- 
tion" or  "Jerusalem  the  Golden" ;  not  a  board- 
meeting  day;  not  a  visiting  day;  not  a  holiday; 
no,  not  even  the  day  for  bringing  up  the  clean 
clothes,  which  made  some  sort  of  a  diversion ;  but 
just  a  plain,  ordinary,  everyday  week-day  in  early 
March,  the  betwixt  and  between  time  with  just 
nothing  going  on !  And  Mrs.  Dodd  sighed  heav- 

ily: 

"I  wish  to  goodness  I'd  made  that  African  last 
longer,  Samanthy !  How  I  do  miss  it !"  She 
yawned  sleepily  and  complained,  "It  certain  is 
awful  dull,  awful,  awful  dull!"  and  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  pottering  about,  agreed,  amiably: 

"Turrible,  Sereny,  turrible !" 

A  moment  later  there  was  a  crash.  Mrs.  Wells 
uttered  a  faint  scream,  while  Mrs.  Dodd,  forget- 
ful of  her  drowsiness,  bounced  forward  in  her  big 
Boston  "rocker,"  exclaiming: 

"For  pity's  sake,  Samanthy  Wells,  can't  I 
take  my  eye  off  of  you  for  one  teeny  quarter  of 

half  a  second  'thout  you  be  up  to  some  caper?" 

44 


MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE  45 

She  paused,  then  burst  forth  again,  as  she  be- 
held fragments  of  gay-hued  china  scattered  upon 
the  floor,  "My  soap-dish  cover!  My  white  chiny 
soap-dish  cover,  with  the  yellow  buttercups 
painted  on  it  and  a  green  and  gold  bow-knot  for 
a  handle  that  my  Boldwood's  grandma  presented 
me  down  in  the  old  South  County,  the  year  him 
and  me  was  married,  and — "  wildly, —  "you've 
smashed  it !  Oh,  dear,  dear,  dear,  I'd  rather  paid 
two  million  dollars  in  silver  square  out  of  my  best 
black  silk  pocket  than  had  it  happen !  What 
you  done  it  for?" 

"I  didn't  mean  to  1"  wailed  Mrs.  Wells.  "O 
Sereny,  I  didn't  mean  to!" 

"Do  you  recolleck  what  Mrs.  Didn't-mean-to 
done  once?"  demanded  Mrs.  Dodd,  her  voice  sink- 
ing to  abysmal  depths.  "She  clim  to  the  top 
shelf  of  the  closet  and  borryed  her  pa-in-law's 
razor  to  cut  buttonholes  with !" 

"You'd  never  known  if  I  hadn't  told  you," 
reproached  Mrs.  Wells.  "But  'twas  me.  I  don't 
deny  it.  And  my  new  ashes-of-roses  Irish  poplin, 
and  it  cut  'em  just  elegant !  But  I  ain't  an  idee 
to  this  day  and  hour  how  Pa  Wells  come  to  sus- 
picion it!" 

"  'Twas  peculiar,"  commented  Mrs.  Dodd, 
dryly.  "But,"  raising  her  tones  in  high  -indigna- 
tion, "that  ain't  neither  here  nor  there!  What 
I'm  asking  is,  'What  you  done  it  for?' ' 

"Highty-tighty !"  reproved  Miss  Sally  Sloane, 
attracted  from  her  room  by  the  hubbub.  "What's 


46  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

the  matter,  Mrs.  Dodd?  What  you  pitching  into 
Mrs.  Wells  so  for?" 

"She's  been  and  gone  and  broke  my  soap-dish 
cover,  that's  what's  the  matter!"  gustily  pro- 
claimed Mrs.  Dodd. 

"Shucks !"  derided  Miss  Sloane.  "I  persumed 
from  the  way  you  was  carrying  on  that  'twas 
something  worth  while." 

"I  guess  you'd  persume  'twas  something  worth 
while,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dodd,  "if  your  husband's 
grandma  had  give  you  a  white  chiny  toilet-set 
all  painted  over  with  yellow  buttercups  and  green 
and  gold  bow-knots  for  handles,  and  that  soap- 
dish  cover  was  the  one  lorn  piece  you'd  got  left 
out  of  the  whole  caboodle,  and  you'd  lugged  it 
from  pillow  to  post  more'n  forty-leven  times — the 
one  thing,"  impressively,  "I  always  moved  by 
hand — and  now  Samanthy  Wells  has  up  and 
smashed  it  to  smithereens,  and  won't  even  own  up 
what  she  done  it  for !  There  used  to  be  a  cake 
of  'Spicy  Breezes'  soap  that  come  with  it,  but  I 
ain't  onreasonable.  I  expect  some  things  to  take 
to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away,  but  soap-dish 
covers,  soap-dish  covers  with  yellow  buttercups 
painted  on  'em  and  green  and  gold  bow-knots 
for  handles,  never,  no,  never!" 

"It  slipped,"  quavered  Mrs.  Wells.  "I  was 
just  a-dusting  it  and  it  slipped."  She  threw 
her  apron  over  her  head,  and  from  behind  it  is- 
sued soft  weeping. 

"I'm  proper  sorry  for  you  both,"  sympathized 


MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE  47 

Miss  Sloane.  "Still  we'd  ought  to  be  thankful 
for  what  blessings  we've  got,  and  one  of  them  is 
that  Mr.  Dodd's  poor  old  grandma  ain't  here  to 
view  the  destruction." 

Mrs.  Wells  peeped  around  the  frill  of  her 
apron.  "She  wa'n't  old,"  she  protested,  "She 
was  only  our  age  when  she  passed  away  if  we 
live  to  our  next  birthday,  wa'n't  she,  Sereny? 
And  her  hair  was  as  black  as  a  coal,  not  a  white 
spear  in  it,  was  there,  Sereny?  She  must've  been 
a  turrible  hahnsome  lady,  and  your  Boldwood, 
he  favored  his  grandma  a  sight,  I've  often  heerd 
you  say  so,  Sereny." 

But  Mrs.  Dodd,  not  to  be  propitiated,  only 
stared  stonily  into  space,  and  again  Miss  Sloane 
took  up  the  gauntlet. 

"  'Tennyrate,  there  ain't  no  woe  but  there. is 
worser,"  she  averred.  "And  s'posen,"  her  gaze 
wandered  about  the  room,  upward  to  the  ceiling, 
downward  to  the  floor,  "s'posen,"  solemnly,  "it'd 
been  Mrs.  Wells's  little  toe !" 

"My  suzzy  me!"  squealed  Mrs.  Wells,  agitat- 
edly hopping  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 
"Which  one,  Miss  Sloane?  Which  one?" 

"Well,"  defied  Mrs.  Dodd,  "s'posen,  s'posen!" 

Mrs.  Wells  gasped.  Miss  Sloane's  honest 
gray  eyes  grew  big  with  shocked  amazement. 
"Come  away,  Mrs.  Wells,"  she  adjured,  in  hushed 
accents,  "come  away.  Let  us  leave  her  and  her 
cruel  thoughts  together." 

With  the  mien  of  an  offended  duchess,  a  very 


48  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

round  and  chubby  duchess,  Miss  Sloane  swept 
from  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Wells,  gathering  up  the 
broken  china,  cast  one  furtive  glance  backward 
and  followed  in  Miss  Sloane's  wake. 

"Go  then,  stay  then,  never  come  back  again!" 
called  Mrs.  Dodd,  stormily,  after  them.  The  door 
shut  gently ;  Mrs.  Dodd  was  alone. 

For  a  few  minutes  she  rocked  violently  to  and 
fro,  muttering  disjointed  scraps  of  sentences; 
presently  she  became  silent,  her  color  faded,  and 
grasping  the  footboard  of  the  bed,  she  drew  her- 
self to  her  feet,  and  trudging  to  the  bureau, 
opened  the  upper  drawer.  She  returned  to  her 
chair  and  outspread  upon  her  lap  a  large  flat 
white  flour-bag,  wadded  and  perfumed  as  a  sa- 
chet. In  one  corner  was  an  immense  bow  of  pink 
satin  ribbon  and  below  was  outlined  with  pink 
floss  and  in  a  somewhat  tipsy  fashion: 

May  we  never  roam 
Far  from  home 
And  each  other! 

"It  was  her  first  Christmas  gift  to  me,"  she 
murmured,  smoothing  out  the  sachet  bag  tenderly. 
"Her  very  first!  And  I've  been  that  ch'ice  of  it, 
that  I've  kept  it  wropped  up  in  tissue-paper  and 
tied  about  with  pink  baby  ribbon  just  as  I  hauled 
it  out  of  my  stocking  that  Christmas  morning." 
She  sniffed  unhappily.  "To  think  that  Saman- 
thy  Wells  would  up  and  quarrel  with  me  in  my 


MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE  49 

declining  years,  and  go  off  with  a  strange  wo- 
man !" 

Once  more  she  rose,  and  with  a  tragic  gesture 
thrust  the  sachet  bag  back  in  the  drawer,  and 
resuming  her  seat,  went  on  lugubriously,  "What's 
forty  white  chiny  soap-dish  covers  with  eighty 
sprays  of  buttercups  painted  on  'em  and — and — 
twice  eighty  green  and  gold  bow-knot  handles 
compared  with  upsetting  Samanthy  Wells's  peace 
and  happiness!  An  old  soap-dish  cover  that 
wouldn't  sell  at  auction  for  a  sou-markee!" 
The  tears  trickled  down  her  plump  cheeks,  her 
double  chin  quivered,  and  she  groaned  aloud, 
"Always  sinning!  Always  repenting!  That's 
Sereny  Dodd!" 

The  afternoon  wore  on,  the  clock  on  the  land- 
ing chimed,  "One,  two,  three,  four !  One  two, 
three,  four!  One,  two,  three,  four!"  then  sol- 
emnly boomed,  "One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six!" 
Mrs.  Dodd  drew  a  long  breath.  "Well,  I  guess 
it's  all  over  now.  She's  gone,  Samanthy's  gone ! 
Probably  she's  told  Miss  Timpkins  she  can't  stand 
Sereny  Dodd's  temper  no  longer!" 

But  just  then  she  heard  the  patter  of  foot- 
steps, the  door  flew  wide,  and  Mrs.  Wells  entered. 
Behind  her  was  the  brilliantly  lighted  corridor, 
but  the  room  was  very  dark,  and  she  halted,  ex- 
claiming : 

"O  me !  O  my !  Sereny  Dodd !  Ain't  you  turned 
on  the  'lectricity  yet?" 


50  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

She  pulled  the  dangling  chain  beside  the  door, 
and  the  light  fell  on  an  object  of  splendor  borne 
aloft  in  one  hand.  "Ain't  it  bee-yutif  ul  ?"  she 
rejoiced,  "Ain't  it  perfectly  lovely?" 

Then  perceiving  her  roommate's  tear-stained 
face,  Mrs.  Wells  gingerly  placed  the  soap-dish 
cover  upon  the  wash-stand,  and  hastened  towards 
Mrs.  Dodd,  crying,  "Why-ee,  Sereny !  What  ails 
you?" 

"You,"  gulped  Mrs.  Dodd,  "you  went  off  with 
Sally  Sloane!" 

"I  never!"  contradicted  Mrs.  Wells.  "I  never! 
I  walked  out  of  the  door  behind  Sally  Sloane, 
but  I  went  straight  to  Miss  Timpkins,  and  she 
and  me've  been  fixing  your  soap-dish  cover  ever 
since!  We  had  to  wait  'tween  whiles  for  the 
gum-stickum  to  dry,  but  there  'tis,  solid's  Roger 
Williams's  Rock !  You  couldn't  find  a  crack  in  it 
if  you  put  on  both  pairs  of  your  glasses  and  I 
lent  you  mine  into  the  bargain !  Ain't  you  glad, 
Sereny  ?" 

"I  be  glad!  I  be  glad  at  everything  you  do, 
Samanthy!"  rejoined  Mrs.  Dodd,  humbly. 
"Maybe  I  don't  always  act  so,  but  Sereny  Dodd's 
a  poor  creetur,  a-making  good  resolutions  and 
a-breaking  good  resolutions  till  sometimes  she's 
so  disapp'inted  in  herself  seem  zif  she  should 
die!" 

"There,  there!"  cooed  Mrs.  Wells,  patting  her 
roommate's  shoulder.  "I  ain't  minding.  I  knew 
'twas  just  from  the  mouth  out.  Hark!"  The 


MRS.  DODD'S  TREASURE  51 

Japanese  gong  was  pealing  from  the  lower  hall. 
"Listen  to  that !  It's  hollering,  'Supper's  on  the 
table,  Sereny  and  Samanthy  !*  '  She  clasped 
Mrs.  Dodd's  pudgy  hands  with  her  own  small 
ones.  "Let's  accept  the  invitation.  A  bite  to 
eat  and  a  nice  hot  cup  of  tea  won't  do  neither 
of  us  no  harm.  We've  had  a  trying  afternoon, 
though,"  her  mild  blue  eyes  twinkled  quizzically, 
"not  quite  so  dull  as  you  and  me  calc'lated  on, 
hey,  Sereny?" 


CHAPTER  VI 
THE  SCARLET  CHINA  CRAPE  SHAWL 

MARCH  had  been  a  wild  and  stormy  month,  with 
rain  and  sleet  and  snow,  and  snow  and  sleet  and 
rain  and  always  the  blustering  breezes;  but  now 
had  dawned  a  sunny  windless  morning,  and  Mrs. 
Dodd  averred: 

"Roared  in  like  a  mountain  lion,  whooped  and 
yelled  ever  since,  but  here  'tis  the  thirty-first, 
and  the  month's  going  out  gentle's  Mary's  little 
lamb.  Guess  our  Betty'll  have  a  good  day  to 
start  off  on,  after  all." 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  nodded.  Yes,  it  was  true. 
Betty  Macdonald,  having  served  five  years  in  the 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  the  land  pro- 
saically termed  "the  States,"  was  about  to  take 
flight  to  distant  Pictou  for  a  short  visit. 

All  the  Home  people  were  so  interested.  Miss 
Timpkins  had  changed  the  maid's  savings  into 
gold,  adding,  as  grateful  Betty  had  informed  each 
member  of  the  household,  a  "whole  entire  extra 
week's  wages."  Mrs.  Demeter  Ford  had  con- 
structed a  money-bag  of  chamois  to  hang  about 
Betty's  neck;  old  Mrs.  Farwell  had  bestowed  from 
her  very  few  possessions  six  stereopticon  views  of 
Bangor,  Maine,  and  little  Mrs.  Wells,  sticking  the 

last  one  of  the  pins  into  the  pin-ball  destined  as 

52 


THE  SCARLET  CRAPE  SHAWL       53 

her  own  parting  gift  to  Betty,  grieved  inwardly: 

"Everyone  is  presenting  Betty  with  a  keepsake 
— everyone  but  Sereny."  And  unable  to  re- 
strain herself  longer,  the  little  woman  cried,  "Se- 
reny Dodd,  ain't  you  got  anything  for  a  present 
for  Betty  Macdonald?" 

Mrs.  Dodd  fixed  startled  black  eyes  upon  her 
roommate.  A  moment  later,  she  rejoined,  com- 
posedly : 

"I've  been  thinking,  Samanthy  Wells." 

She  pulled  out  the  drawer  of  the  light-stand  be- 
fore her,  extracted  from  within  a  small  flat  pack- 
age and  snapped  the  string.  As  she  proceeded 
to  reveal  the  contents,  Mrs.  Wells  gasped: 

"O  me !  O  my !  You  ain't  ever  meaning  to  give 
away  your  scarlet  Chiny  crape  shawl,  Sereny 
Dodd!" 

And  again  Mrs.  Dodd  rejoined,  deliberately: 

"I've  been  thinking." 

"I  always  did  declare  'twas  the  splendidest 
thing  I  ever  did  see."  Mrs.  Wells  reached  for- 
ward and  touched  the  delicate  glowing  fabric 
with  caressing  finger-tips.  "Why,  it's  sheer  as 
one  of  them  Injy  muslins  old  deep-sea  Captain 
Rymer  used  to  tell  about,  that'd  go  through  your 
wedding  ring!" 

"This  one  went  through  a  napkin  ring  oncet," 
affirmed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "All  but  the  fringe.  My 
Boldwood  was  a  master  hand  at  trying  things 
and  'twas  him  that  done  it.  Not  but  once, 
though,"  grimly,  "I  seen  to  that!" 


54  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Little  Mrs.  Wells,  still  gloating  over  the  silken 
folds,  hazarded,  "  It  must  have  cost  a  mort  of 
money." 

"Like  enough,  first  off,"  acknowledged  Mrs. 
Dodd,  indifferently,  "though  it  never  cost  me 
naught  but  worry."  She  settled  back  in  her 
chair  and  continued,  "I'll  tell  you  all  about  it. 
This  shawl  has  a  hist'ry.  My  husband,  Bold- 
wood  Dodd,  picked  it  up  in  the  Public  Gardens 
down  to  Boston.  He'd  traveled  down  there  to 
buy  stock  for  the  shop,  one  pound  of  horse-shoe 
nails, — I  don't  imagine  he  saved  one  copper  Can- 
ady  penny  by  it,  but  he  enj'yed  the  journey  and 
I  didn't  objeck, — and  whilst  he  was  eating  his 
lunch,  he  spied  between  the  rails  at  the  back  of 
the  bench  this  shawl  on  the  ground.  He  fished 
through  and  hauled  it  up  and  spread  it  out  be- 
side him  to  dry,  for  'twas  all  damp  with  the  dew. 
He  stayed  there  more'n  an  hour,  but  there  wa'n't  a 
soul  come  nigh.  So  when  he'd  finished  his  snack, 
he  lugged  it  over  to  the  depot  and  showed  it  to 
the  telegraph  operator;  he  was  a  Torbolton  boy, 
and  Boldwood  was  well  acquainted  with  him.  And 
— I  don't  s'pose  the  shawl  did  appear  much  ac- 
count then,  all  wisped  up  and  draggled — he  said, 
'Fling  it  away.  'Tain't  worth  bothering  about.' 

"But  Boldwood  knew  better'n  to  do  that  and  he 
brought  it  home  to  me,  and  after  I'd  cleaned  it 
with  French  chalk  and  dipped  it  into  naphtha  and 
unsnarled  the  fringe  and  stretched  it  on  my  lace 
curtain  stretcher,  lo  and  behold,  it  was  another 


THE  SCARLET  CRAPE  SHAWL       55 

creetur!  And  my  conscience  sort  of  smote  me, 
so  Boldwood  advertised,  not  straight  put,  but 
mysterious  like,  'Found,  an  article  of  value.  Ap- 
ply, Rising  Sun  office,  Box  2121.'  " 

"Any  answers?"  queried  Mrs.  Wells. 

"Answers!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Well,  I 
should  say!  Box  2121  wouldn't  hold  'em!  They 
had  to  set  out  a  laundry  basket  to  ketch  the  over- 
flow! You  wouldn't  believe  there  was  so  many 
articles  of  value  in  these  Torbolton  Plantations 
as  folkses  sent  word  they'd  lost.  They  ranged 
all  the  way  from  sable  muffs  to  pieces  of  hand- 
writ  po'try.  But  no  one  mentioned  a  scarlet 
Chiny  crape  shawl,  so  I  kept  it." 

"You  always  did  dote  on  red,  Sereny,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Wells. 

"I  did  and  I  do,"  assented  Mrs.  Dodd.  "But 
somehow  or  'nother,  I  never  got  much  satisfac- 
tion out  of  this  shawl.  First  time  I  wore  it  to 
church,  only  time,"  she  corrected,  "Parson  Bur- 
ritt  must  have  been  awful  ann'yed,  for  the  entire 
congregation  like  as  they  was  one  woman  just 
oggled  my  shawl !  And  when  the  meeting  was 
over,  not  a  child  could  be  either  coaxed  or  driv' 
into  Sunday-school — they  had  it  right  after  serv- 
ice, and  the  vestibule  was  chock-full  of  little 
boys  and  girls — till  Sereny  Dodd  had  fled  away 
out  of  sight.  And  Boldwood,  he  set  his  foot 
down  hard.  But  once  when  he  was  off  to  Boston 
again  for  a  day,  I  donned  it  for  the  Cawcawm- 
squissick  Chapel  Picnic.  And  after  the  co-alation 


56  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

was  over — you  know  how  awful  thirsty  you  are 
after  you've  sampled  ham  sandwiches  and  sardines 
in  mustard  and  the  lemonade's  gi'n  out — Sister 
Whittum  and  me  sa'ntered  down  the  railroad 
track  to  get  a  drink  at  the  Founder's  Spring; 
and  this  shawl  actooally  stopped  a  train  of  karo- 
sene-oil  cars.  They  calc'lated  'twas  a  blazing 
bonfire.  And  the  conductor,"  Mrs.  Dodd  coughed 
deprecatingly,  "  he  was  a  good-looking  man  with 
a  black  mustache,  but  he  didn't  talk  real  pretty." 

"He'd  ought  to  'a'  been  ashamed!"  declared 
Mrs.  Wells,  while  Mrs.  Dodd  went  on : 

"Then  I  packed  it  away  in  cedar  wood  chips, 
but  landee,  I  never  walked  out  of  that  tenement 
if  'twa'n't  no  more'n  around  to  the  grocery  after 
a  quart  of  potatoes  but  my  heart  would  go  pit- 
a-pat for  fear  some  burglar  would  climb  in  and 
steal  it  whilst  I  was  gone.  Howsomever,"  cheer- 
ily, "he  never  done  it.  And  here  'tis,  and  I've 
been  thinking — " 

At  this  instant  a  pleasant  voice  greeted  them 
from  the  doorway,  "Good  morning,  ladies !" 

"Come  in,  come  in,  Betty !"  invited  Mrs.  Wells, 
and  Mrs.  Dodd,  beaming  a  cordial  welcome,  ob- 
served : 

"Got  out  my  Chiny  crape  shawl,  Betty.  How 
do  you  like  it?" 

As  the  maid  stepped  into  the  room,  little  Mrs. 
Wells's  countenance  assumed  an  anxious  expres- 
sion. She  winked  at  Betty,  winked  with  vigor 
and  with  great  significance,  winked  her  left  eye. 


THE  SCARLET  CRAPE  SHAWL       57 

It  was,  discreetly  enough,  the  eye  remote  from 
Mrs.  Dodd,  but  unfortunately,  the  eye  remote 
from  Betty  also,  so  the  maid,  all  unconscious  of 
the  kindly  warning  intended,  bending  her  atten- 
tion upon  the  gorgeous  web  draping  Mrs.  Dodd's 
knees,  pronounced: 

"Hahnsome!  Hahnsome!  Dunno's  I  ever  see 
anything  hahnsomer.  But,"  with  a  glance  at  the 
snowy,  cap-surmounted  hair,  the  wrinkled  if 
rosy  old  face,  and  the  portly  figure  of  Mrs. 
Serena  Dodd,  "p'raps  a  speck,  just  a  speck 
too  gay." 

"Gay!"  ejaculated  Mrs.  Dodd.     "Gay!" 

"Yes,"  insisted  Betty,  "gay.  Now  if  you'd 
rip  off  the  fringe — " 

"Rip  off  the  fringe!"  repeated  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"And  trim  it  up  with  a  good  deep  frilling  of 
black  net  footing  and  set  in  a  couple  of  rows  of 
insertion  to  match,  'twould  tone  it  down  a  consid- 
erable lot." 

"Tone  it  down!"  Mrs.  Dodd  began  to  fold  up 
the  shawl;  Mrs.  Wells  fidgeted  unhappily,  and 
Betty  continued: 

"Or  better  still,  dye  it." 

"Dye  it!"  Mrs.  Dodd's  accents  were  stormy, 
"dye  it!  Dye  my  scarlet  Chiny  crape  shawl 
my  Boldwood  discovered  in  the  Public  Gardens 
down  to  Boston  five  and  twenty  years  ago,  and 
fetched  five  and  forty  miles  home  to  me!  Sereny 
Dodd  thinks  not!" 

Mrs.  Wells,  who  had  winked  sixteen  times  if 


58  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

she  had  winked  once,  now  interrupted,  desperately, 
"You  wouldn't  call  it  too  gay  if  'twas  yourn, 
Betty?" 

"Nothing's  too  gay  for  young  folks,"  alleged 
Betty.  "They  can  deck  out  in  grass-green  yel- 
low bordered  round  with  sky-blue  pink  if  they 
feel  to,  being  young.  But  for  old  ladies,"  she 
hesitated,  for  Mrs.  Dodd's  aspect  was  severe,  "or 
for  elderly  ladies,"  gracious !  that  did  not  suit 
either !  "or  for  ladies  of  a  certain  age,"  Betty  fan- 
cied that  Mrs.  Dodd's  features  softened,  and  she 
uttered  the  phrase  again  with  complacency,  "for 
ladies  of  a  certain  age,  that  shawl,  it  can't  be 
denied,  is  too  gay.  Now  if  it  was  mine — " 

"But  'tain't!"  retorted  Mrs.  Dodd.  Bang! 
The  light-stand  drawer  was  shut,  the  scarlet 
China  crape  shawl  had  disappeared  within,  and 
Mrs.  Dodd,  rocking  briskly  to  and  fro,  was  ap- 
parently absorbed  in  rapt  contemplation  of  the 
swelling  buds  of  the  horse-chestnut  tree  on  the 
front  lawn. 

Betty  stared  at  Mrs.  Wells,  Mrs.  Wells  stared 
back,  murmuring  under  her  breath,  "Simple  Si- 
mon !"  Then  aloud,  with  resignation,  "What  train 
do  you  take  for  Boston  to-morrow,  Betty?" 

"The  nine-thirty,"  replied  the  maid.  "I've 
ordered  the  coach  for  nine."  She  broke  into  a 
joyous  laugh.  "I  haven't  rid  in  anything  but 
'lectrics  since  I  left  Pictou.  'Twill  seem  pretty 
nice." 

"So  'twill,"  sympathized  Mrs.  Wells,  and  Mrs. 


THE  SCARLET  CRAPE  SHAWL       59 

Dodd,  whose  wrath,  always  short-lived,  was  al- 
ready cooling,  admonished  her: 

"Don't  you  forget  to-morrow's  April  Fool's 
Day,  Betty.  Be  careful  you  don't  get  fooled." 

"I  never  was  fooled  in  all  my  born  days,"  re- 
sponded Betty,  cheerfully. 

"I've  been,  oodlins  of  times,"  volunteered  little 
Mrs.  Wells.  "Every  April  Fool's  Day,  reg'lar's 
clock-work,  my  Absalom'd  say,  "O  Samanthy,  see 
that  flock  of  geese !'  and  I'd  hop  up  from  the 
breakfast  table,  and  skip  to  the  window  and  peek 
out  and  say,  'Where?  Where?'  And  Absalom'd 
clap  me  on  the  shoulder,  and  holler,  'One  of  'em's 
right  here !  April  Fool,  Samanthy  Wells !  Haw, 
haw,  haw!'  You  could  most  hear  him  to  the 
moon." 

"Once  a  man,  twice  a  child!"  commented  Mrs. 
Dodd,  amiably.  "Now  my  Boldwood's  trick  was, 
'See  that  horse  running  away!'  Horses  was  in 
his  line,  you  know,  he  being  a  blacksmith  and  a 
proper  good  judge  of  'em,  if  I  say  it  as  shouldn't. 
Sometimes  I'd  let  him  fool  me  just  for  fun,  some- 
times not."  She  sighed.  "I've  often  wished 
since  I'd  let  him  fool  me  oftener.  He  was  tickled 
as  cuffee  every  identical  time,  and  it  didn't  harm 
me  an  ioty." 

"No  man,  no  woman,  no  child  ever  April-fooled 
me!"  boasted  Betty,  tossing  her  ruddy  head. 
"No  one  ever  can!" 

Mrs.  Dodd's  eyes  danced.  "Is  it  a  dare?"  she 
demanded. 


60 

"Darst  you!  darst  you!"  challenged  Betty. 

"I  never  take  a  dare !"  avowed  Mrs.  Dodd  with 
spirit.  "You  watch  out !" 

April  first  dawned  bright  and  beautiful;  and 
Betty  Macdonald,  after  scoffing  merrily  at  mythi- 
cal youngsters  swinging  on  mythical  gates  and 
imaginary  dogs  chasing  imaginary  cats  up  imag- 
inary trees,  had  departed  in  the  "coach  ordered 
for  nine." 

Now  it  was  mid-afternoon,  and  the  mail-car- 
rier had  just  delivered  a  postal  card  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Serena  Dodd. 

"I've  got  on  my  far-sights,  Samanthy,"  said 
Mrs.  Dodd,  passing  the  card  to  her  roommate. 
"You  read  it  out."  And  Mrs.  Wells  read  it 
out: 

'"DEAR  MRS.  DODD:  You  done  it!  Thank  you, 
ma'am.  A  good  girl." 

"  'For  a  good  girl,'  "  explained  Mrs.  Dodd,  "is 
what  I  printed  on  the  tag  I  fastened  onto  the 
package.  She  must  have  unairthed  it  on  the 
train.  'Twas  the  good-by  present  I  give  her 
when  she  wa'n't  expecting  it  no  more'n  Adam  and 
Eve.  Tucked  it  in  her  .satchel  when  she  was  hug- 
ging old  Mrs.  Farwell  and  kind  of  off  her  guard." 
And  at  little  Mrs.  Wells's  bewildered  look,  she 
added,  in  genial  reproach: 

"Don't  you  understand,  Samanthy?  I've 
April-fooled  Betty  Macdonald,  April-fooled  her 
good  and  plenty  with  my  scarlet  Chiny  crape 


THE  SCARLET  CRAPE  SHAWL       61 

shawl,  the  very  same  shawl  my  Boldwood  discov- 
ered down  to  Boston  and  fetched  home  to  me  with 
the  one  pound  of  horse-shoe  nails  he'd  bargained 
for."  Mrs.  Dodd  was  one  vast  expansive  smile. 
"Didn't  I  tell  Betty  Macdonald  that  Sereny  Dodd 
never  takes  a  dare?  Well,  she  ain't  done  it  this 
time,  neither!" 


CHAPTER  VII 
MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX 

IT  was,  indeed,  a  short  visit  that  Betty  Mac- 
donald  made.  Two  days  and  two  nights  of  rail- 
road travel,  a  long  drive  across  half  Pictou 
County,  joyous  welcomes  from  everyone,  presents 
distributed,  friends  and  relatives  visited,  then 
two  Saturdays  having  passed  without  any  wages 
coming  in  but  any  amount  of  "good  red  gold" 
going  out,  Betty,  with  the  "wander-lust"  again 
in  her  veins,  had  turned  her  face  once  more  to- 
ward Torbolton.  And  it  was  the  morning  after 
her  arrival  that  Mrs.  Dodd  was  saying: 

"Just  twenty  days  since  Betty  bade  us  fare- 
well, and  now  she's  back  again,"  and  as  she  heard 
the  thud  of  the  pail  in  the  hall  where  Betty  was 
beginning  her  task  of  washing  windows,  "Don't 
it  seem  good  to  hear  her  banging  round?"  She 
repeated,  reflectively,  "Twenty  days,  why  that 
makes  to-day  the  twenty-first  of  April.  Massy 
sakes,  Samanthy  Wells  !  Where's  my  spring  bun- 
nit?  The  day  after  the  day  after  to-morrow 
'twill  have  been  gone  two  weeks.  Sometimes  I 
most  mistrust  'taint  ever  coming  back !" 

"Tut!  Tut!"  chided  little  Mrs.  Wells,  "  'Tain't 
for  you  or  me,  Sereny  Dodd,  to  be  doubting 
Thomases.  Why—" 


MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX  63 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  brisk  tap-tapping 
of  heels  along  the  corridor.  Both  women  glanced 
alertly  at  the  door,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  said,  "S'pose 
it's  it,  Samanthy?" 

"Likely,"  replied  Mrs.  Wells.  "Likely,  more'n 
likely,  Sereny." 

The  next  instant,  Miss  Timpkins  stood  before 
them,  poising  on  uplifted  fingers  an  affair  of  lace 
and  ribbon  and  flowers,  two  ostrich  tips  and  a 
steel  buckle,  and  announced,  cheerily: 

"Here's  Mrs.  Dodd's  new  bonnet!  Done  over 
fine !  Everything  freshened  up  except  the  violets, 
they  were  too  faded  to  use  again,  so  I  bought  a 
brand-new  spray  of  heliotrope  straight  out  of  the 
show-case." 

She  paused.  The  pleased  expectant  look  had 
died  out  of  the  two  old  faces.  Mrs.  Wells  cast 
down  her  blue  eyes,  while  Mrs.  Dodd  studied  with 
somber  black  orbs  the  headgear  held  forth  for 
her  inspection.  "Where's  the  box?"  she  de- 
manded. 

"The  box !"  faltered  the  matron. 

"Yes,  the  box.  The  bunnit-box.  Don't  they 
give  'em  nowadays?  When  I  used  to  buy  my 
own  bunnits  they  always  come  in  a  box.  I  wouldn't 
've  took  'em  less  they  did."  She  continued  in 
accents  more  of  sorrow  than  of  anger,  "If -you'd 
only  brought  me  the  box,  I'd  never  said  a  word. 
But  now  I  ain't  nothing  to  conceal.  I  never  liked 
them  vi'lets  you  had  my  bunnit  trimmed  with 
three  seasons  ago,  but  I  ain't  never  owned  up 


64*  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

to  nobody  all  these  years,  have  I,  Samanthy?" 

"Not  to  nobody  but  me,"  concurred  Mrs. 
Wells. 

"And  though,"  pursued  Mrs.  Dodd,  "I  was  pre- 
pared, for  the  sake  of  saving  the  board  expense, 
to  put  up  with  them  vi'lets  for  a  spell  longer,  I 
hated  'em.  I  hate  purple!  Lavender  or  lay- 
lock  or  morve  or  vi'let  or  heliotrope,  it's  all  one  to 
Sereny  Dodd.  Just  purple,  purple,  purple!  I 
despise  'em  all!  And  moreover  and  to  boot,  in 
my  opinion  purple's  too  old  for  a  lady  of  my  age. 
And  Samanthy  thinks  the  same,  don't  you,  Sa- 
manthy ?" 

Mrs.  Wells  nodded.  "And  for  me,  too,"  she 
gently  observed. 

"New  purple  flowers !"  Mrs.  Dodd  sighed.  "But 
I  wouldn't  said  a  word  if  you'd  only  brought  me  a 
box.  I  want  a  box  awful !" 

"Dear  me!  Dear,  dear  me!"  murmured  Miss 
Timpkins. 

"Strange  how  Sereny  doos  love  boxes,"  piped 
up  Mrs.  Wells.  "Now  I've  got  an  idee,  ma'am. 
Just  you  let  me  tell  it.  Couldn't  you  send  the 
bunnit  back,  and  have  them  purple  flowers  changed 
for  pink  ones,  a  rose,  or  a  'zalia,  or  a  bleeding- 
heart?  Sereny  sets  turrible  store  by  pink.  And 
if  the  board  decides  you've  really  got  to  keep  the 
heliotrope,  you  might  lay  it  aside  for  old  Mrs. 
Farwell's  next  bunnit.  But  this  time,  Miss  Timp- 
kins, you  be  firm.  Say  you've  got  to  have  a  box !" 

She   smiled   entreatingly   at   the  matron,   who 


MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX  65 

smiled  back,  thinking,  "We'll  all  be  old  ourselves 
sometime,"  and  answered,  good-naturedly,  "Of 
course  I  can,  and  I  will." 

Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  softened.  "I  don't  like 
to  hurt  folkses'  feelings,  Miss  Timpkins,"  she 
plaintively  asserted,  "not  more'n  the  next  one. 
But  if  they  don't  know  the  diffrunce  'twixt  seven- 
ty-nine and  a  hundred,  somebody's  got  to  tell 
'em,  and  seems  as  if  'twas  always  me  had  to  taykle 
them  hateful  jobs!" 

Two  days  later  Mrs.  Dodd  was  gazing  at  her 
second  self  in  the  depths  of  the  mirror  and  exult- 
ing, "That  pink  rose  is  perfectly  lovely!  O  me! 
O  my !"  she  sniffed  rapturously.  "I  can  e'en 
a'most  smell  it !  And  as  for  the  cunning  little  teen- 
ty-tawnty  buds  on  top,  the  Queen  of  Sheby  in  all 
her  glory  couldn't  ever  had  anything  hahnsomer !" 
She  turned  her  head  from  side  to  side  and  bri- 
dled complacently.  "Pink  always  was  my  color, 
always !  And  I  will  say  for  Miss  Timpkins  that 
if  she's  some  slow  about  catching  on,  when  she 
does  catch  on,  it's  with  a  grip  like  iron !" 

Still  beaming  joyously,  she  stepped  to  the 
closet,  took  from  the  shelf  a  bandbox — a  bandbox 
encased  in  a  gay  plaided  gingham  bag,  a  band- 
box evidently  of  Mrs.  Dodd's  youth — and  pro- 
ceeded, to  her  roommate's  unbounded  astonish- 
ment, to  place  within  it  the  new  bonnet.  As  she 
carefully  tucked  in  the  tissue-paper  and  tied  the 
drawing-string,  Mrs.  Wells  found  her  tongue. 

"Land  alive,  Sereny  Dodd !"  she  gasped.  "What 


66  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

on  airth  be  you  going  to  do  with  that  new  band- 
box you  raised  such  a  catouse  about?" 

"Nothing,"  replied  Mrs.  Dodd,  placidly. 
"Nothing.  Only  I  ain't  never  real  comfortable 
in  my  mind  'less  I  have  a  box  on  hand  in  case. 
And  this  one,"  she  patted  the  shining  white  box 
with  affection,  "is  grand,  simply  grand !  Though 
I  ain't  a  speck  of  room  where  to  keep  it.  My 
closet's  cram-jam-full."  She  looked  tentatively 
toward  her  companion. 

"Mine,  too,  Sereny."  Mrs.  Wells's  voice  was 
as  determined  as  so  gentle  a  voice  could  be.  "And 
what's  more,  I've  got  your  blanket  wrapper  and 
your  best  shoes  in  it.  There  ain't  another  inch 
to  spare."  Such  gloom,  however,  darkened  Mrs. 
Dodd's  countenance  that  the  little  woman  sug- 
gested hastily,  "There's  the  hall  closet." 

Sure  enough  there  was  the  hall  closet ;  and  pres- 
ently Mrs.  Dodd,  having  pushed  the  box  out  of 
sight  under  the  stairs,  was  admonishing,  "Now 
don't  you  touch  it,  Samanthy."  And  at  her  com- 
panion's aggrieved  air,  she  added,  significantly, 
"Oncet  someone,  naming  no  names,  Samanthy,  took 
my  bee-yutiful  gilt-aidged  box  my  niece  Lyddy 
from  over  to  Holt  sent  me  Christmas  with  candied 
fruit  in  it,  and  filled  it  chock-full  with  your 
nephew  Peter  Rawdon's  chocolate  creams,  and 
presented  it  to  old  Mrs.  Farwell,  and  I  ain't  ever 
got  it  back." 

"O  Sereny !"  broke  in  Mrs.  Wells,  reproachfully. 
"She  was  turrible  tickled.  She  ain't  any  Niece 


MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX  67 

Lyddy  nor  Nephew  Peter  to  cocker  her  up,  poor 
dear !  And  I  told  her  the  box  was  your  donation, 
give  you  all  the  compliment,  Sereny." 

"Well,  the  deed's  did,"  genially  returned  the 
mollified  Mrs.  Dodd.  "And  as  my  Boldwood  used 
to  say,  'So  be  it !'  " 

This  was  Thursday  afternoon  and  on  Friday 
morning,  when  Mrs.  Dodd  heard  footsteps  in  the 
corridor,  she  called,  "Betty !  Betty  Macdonald !" 
As  Betty's  ruddy  head  was  thrust  within  the  door, 
she  went  on,  "Betty,  I  wisht  I  had  a  box." 

"Why-ee,  Sereny !  You  ain't  forgot  so  quick !" 
cried  Mrs.  Wells. 

Mrs.  Dodd  stared  at  her  roommate  coldly  i  "I 
never  forget,  Samanthy  Wells !"  said  she,  and 
again,  "Betty,  I  wisht  I  had  a  box." 

"What  kind  of  a  box?"  inquired  Betty.  "A 
pill  box  or  a  packing-case?" 

"Neither,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd,  laughing.  "A  be- 
twixt and  between,  I  guess.  My  work  box  is 
all  falling  to  flinders,  and  I  need  a  new  one.  You 
put  your  mind  to  it,  Betty,  and  you're  so  clever 
I'm  sure  you'll  find  a  way  to  get  one." 

Betty  put  her  mind  to  it  with  such  success 
that  inside  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Mrs.  Dodd  was 
arranging  within  a  shining  white  box  her  work 
things,  scissors  and  emery  and  thimblej  needle- 
book  and  pincushion,  threads  and  silks  of  various 
colors,  averring  with  fervor: 

"Betty's  a  good  child!  This  box  and  the  one 
Miss  Timpkins  brought  me  my  bunnit  in  is  as 


68  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

alike  as  two  peas  in  a  pod,  and  I  don't  know 
which  to  be  thankfullest  for.'* 

A  week  had  gone  by,  it  was  visiting  day;  and 
Miss  Lydia  Barren  "from  over  to  Holt,"  was 
spending  a  helpful  hour  in  the  southwest  front 
corner  room  of  the  Home.  She  had  threaded  a 
couple  of  dozen  needles  for  Mrs.  Dodd,  picked  up 
the  dropped  stitches  in  Mrs.  Wells's  knitting,  had 
praised  the  new  bonnet  generously,  and  then  asked, 
"How  about  your  best  dress,  Aunt  Sereny?" 

"It's  all  right  far's  I  know,"  began  Mrs.  Dodd, 
vaguely. 

But  Mrs.  Wells  had  darted  to  the  closet  and 
was  lifting  from  its  hook  a  gown  of  old-fashioned 
square-meshed  grenadine,  "reg'lar  sewing-silk 
grenadine.  Cost  four  dollars  a  yard  back  in  '65, 
war  prices  them  was."  She  shook  out  its  folds, 
declaring,  "I'll  tell  you  about  it,  Lyddy.  It's 
a  leetle  too  tight  over  the  chest,  the  waist-band's 
a  mite  snug,  and  'twouldn't  harm  the  sleeves  any 
to  len'then  'em  down  as  much  as  half  a  palm's 
breadth.  I  laid  awake  hours  last  night  mulling 
over  it,  and  I  calculate  the  way  the  style  is  now 
that  you  could  squeeze  enough  out  of  the  skirt 
to  fix  it  so  Sereny  wouldn't  call  the  queen  her 
cousin.  Ruffles  on  the  sleeves,  a  girdle  belt,  and  a 
crosswise  strip  down  the  front  of  the  basque, 
with  buttons  along  the  middle." 

"That's  pretty  smart,"  said  Miss  Barron. 
"I'll  carry  it  home  now  and  alter  it  so  that  aunty 
can  have  it  Sunday.  But  Miss  Timpkins  keeps 


MRS.  DODD'S  BANDBOX  69 

you  all  pressed  up  so  nice,  'twould  be  a  pity  to 
crumple  it.  Have  you  got  a  box,  Aunt  Serena?" 

"There!"  exploded  Mrs.  Dodd.  "You  hear 
that,  Samanthy  Wells?"  She  rose  ponderously. 

But  Mrs.  Wells  was  already  at  the  hall  closet, 
proclaiming  wildly,  "O  Sereny,  'taint  here !" 

"But  it  must  be!"  insisted  Mrs.  Dodd.  "It 
must  be,  I  put  it  there." 

"What  are  you  after?"  hailed  Betty  Macdon- 
ald,  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 

From  the  hubbub  that  followed,  she  caught  the 
words,  "Box!  Box!  Box!" 

"To  be  sure,"  she  admitted,  composedly. 
"That's  where  the  box  was  I  found  for  Mrs.  Dodd 
last  week." 

"You  bad,  bad,  bad,  bad,  bad  child!"  wailed 
Mrs.  Dodd. 

"But  I  gave  it  to  you,  Mrs.  Dodd,"  protested 
Betty.  "There  'tis  this  minute,"  she  pointed 
with  indignant  finger,  "smack  on  your  light- 
stand." 

Mrs.  Dodd  wrung  her  hands.  "But  I  didn't 
know  'twas  that  one,  and  I  cut  it  down  shallow 
for  my  work  things,  and  now  my  dress  won't  go 
into  it,  and  'twill  be  all  wrinkled,  and — " 

"Sho,  ma'am,"  soothed  Betty,  "sho,  ma'am! 
I  never  sink  my  foot  in  any  deeper  than  I  can  haul 
it  out.  I  hadn't  any  more'n  give  you  that  box 
when  it  flashed  into  my  mind,  s'posen  some  one  of 
the  old  ladies  put  it  there,  and  I  acted  according." 

She  vanished  up  the  attic  stairs,  then  clattered 


70  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

down,  and  soon  Mrs.  Dodd  was  embracing  with 
agitated  arms  another  box,  another  big  white 
shining  box ! 

Ten  minutes  later,  with  the  grenadine  gown 
carefully  packed  within  the  box,  "Niece  Lyddy 
from  over  to  Holt,"  was  passing  down  the  grav- 
eled path  of  the  Home  when  Mrs.  Dodd  rapped 
sharply  on  the  window  pane.  "Lyddy  !  Lyddy !" 
she  shrilled.  "Be  sure  you  fetch  my  bunnitbox 
back!"  Then  contentedly  settling  her  plump 
person  in  the  big  Boston  "rocker,"  she  said,  with 
unction : 

"There  ain't  no  use  a-talking,  Samanthy 
Wells  !  Forethought's  the  thing !  Forethought ! 
Forethought!  And  though  it  takes  time  and 
stren'th  and  the  will  of  a  Bengal  tiger,  there 
ain't  nothing  like  having  a  box  on  hand  in  case !" 


CHAPTER  VIII 
THE  FIRE  WAGON 

APRIL  had  slipped  insensibly  into  May,  not  the 
violet-scented,  apple-blossomed,  merry,  merry 
month  of  May,  celebrated  by  the  poets,  but  a  very 
"backward"  May,  a  May,  chilly,  with  no  genial 
warmth;  and  the  dwellers  in  the  big  brick  build- 
ing on  Quinton  hill  were  still  behind  closed  doors 
and  windows. 

Clang!  Clang!  The  notes  of  a  fire-gong 
smote  rhythmically  on  the  air,  accompanied  by  the 
hoof-beats  of  galloping  horses,  the  clatter  of 
wagon-wheels,  and  above  all,  stentorian  cries  of 
"Giddap !  giddap !" 

Mrs.  Dodd,  rousing  from  the  cat-nap  she  had 
been  taking  in  her  big  Boston  "rocker,"  muttered, 
drowsily : 

"Seem  zif  I  heerd  something!" 

"Guess  you  did,"  giggled  little  Mrs.  Wells. 
"There  was  rumpus  enough,  I'm  sure.  'Twas  a 
fire-wagon  out  on  the  avenue.  But  it's  gone 
now,  and  you  might's  well  finish  out  your  sail  to 
Noddy's  Island." 

Mrs.  Dodd  closed  her  eyes  and  Mrs.  Wells,  re- 
suming her  task  of  setting  in  order  her  bureau 
drawers,  mused,  "Funny  there's  any  idle  hands 

for  Satan  to  find  mischief  for,  so  long's  there's 

71 


72  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

bury  drawers  above  ground  to  straighten  out!" 

Presently  she  cocked  her  small  head  on  one 
side  and  listened  intently. 

Clang!  Clang!  Clang!  Again  sounded  the 
thudding  of  iron-shod  hoofs  upon  the  macadam, 
the  rattling  of  wagon-wheels,  the  strident  urging 
forward  of  the  driver. 

Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  flew  wide  open.  She 
bent  forward  and  peered  out,  while  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  in  her  haste  to  reach  the  window,  tipped 
over  the  low  wooden  tabouret  upon  which  she  had 
been  sitting,  stumbled  and  was  too  late  to  catch 
even  a  glimpse  of  the  cause  of  all  the  uproar. 

"My  suzzy  me!"  groaned  Mrs.  Dodd.  "And 
I  had  my  reading  glasses  on,  and  couldn't  make 
out  a  thing  one-quarter  inch  beyond  my  nose!" 

Mrs.  Wells  picked  up  the  tabouret  and  reseated 
herself,  and  her  roommate,  pushing  her  spectacles 
high  up  on  her  forehead,  grumbled: 

"If  them  fussybudgets  of  councilmen  hadn't 
voted  to  stop  ringing  the  bells  and  have  just  a 
still  alarm  sent  in,  we'd  have  known  where  that 
fire  is,  Samanthy  Wells  !" 

"They  say  'twas  to  shut  off  the  little  boys," 
explained  Mrs.  Wells. 

Mrs.  Dodd  snorted.  "Be  we  little  boys? 
We're  the  ones  it  shuts  off.  We  that  can't  go  and 
don't  go,  but  just  hunger  and  thirst  after  a 
leetle  information."  She  went  on  plaintively, 
"It  used  to  be  awful  interesting  to  count  the 
alarm.  Whenever  my  Boldwood'd  hear  it,  midday 


THE  FIRE  WAGON  73 

or  midnight,  no  matter  where,  he'd  halt  in  his 
tracks  and  lift  his  forefinger  stern, — if  'twas  day- 
light I'd  see  him,  if  'twas  dark,  I'd  know  he  was 
doing  it,  'cause  why,  as  old  Mr.  Henry  said,  'I 
have  but  one  lamp  to  guide  my  feet,  and  that  is 
the  lamp  of  experience,'  and  Boldwood  Dodd,  he 
always  done  it, — and  he'd  whisper,  'Hark,  Se- 
reny!'  and  Sereny'd  hark.  And  he'd  tick  off  the 
bells  and  haul  out  the  little  book  the  numbers  was 
printed  in  from  his  vest  pocket,  had  to  get  up 
sometimes  to  light  up  to  read  by,  and  tell  me 
where  'twas.  Then  sensing  'twa'n't  anything  to 
us,  we  didn't  own  any  estates,  we'd  just. settle 
down  like  Mr.  Abraham  Davenport,  eating  or 
sleeping  or  playing  backgammon.  That  was  tak- 
ing solid  comfort." 

Once  more  clang!  clang!  clang!  fell  upon  their 
ears,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  continued  excitedly,  "Lan- 
dee,  but  here's  another!" 

This  time  little  Mrs.  Wells  did  not  stumble  as 
she  hurried  to  her  roommate's  side. 

"Must  be  a  turrible  fire  somewhere!"  averred 
Mrs.  Wells.  "S'pose  I  hunt  up  Miss  Timpkins? 
She,  being  matron,  ought  to — " 

"Miss  Timpkins  ain't  to  home,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Dodd,  gloomily.  "She  was  streaking  it  off 
down  town  an  hour  ago  with  Nora  O'Hara's 
green  plumes  a-bobbity-bobbing  behind  her. 
And  oh,  oh,  oh!  If  I  ever!"  pointing  indig- 
nantly at  a  figure  flitting  through  the  gate. 
"Just  look  at  Betty  Macdonald  a-skipping  off 


74  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

too!  But  don't  you  care.  There's  the  college 
boy  that  tends  the  furnace.  I'll  ask  him."  She 
rapped  sharply  on  the  window-pane.  "Hullo! 
Hullo  you!  Where's  the  fire?" 

But  the  college  boy,  deaf  to  the  appeal,  vaulted 
over  the  side  fence  and  disappeared. 

"He  doesn't  hear,"  lamented  Mrs.  Wells.  The 
next  instant  she  had  darted  across  the  hall,  cry- 
ing, "Sally,  Sally  Sloane,  where's  the  fire?" 

Miss  Sloane,  lying  on  her  bed,  only  resting — 
she  never  could  sleep  daytimes,  you  have  her  own 
word  for  it — responded,  dreamily,  "What  fire?" 

Mrs.  Wells,  scurrying  toward  the  northwest 
window,  answered  "The  fire!  The  fire  all  them 
fire-teams  be  going  to  !  Three  of  'em's  been  by  the 
Home  already.  I  don't  know  what  the  first  two 
was,  for  I  didn't  get  to  see  'em,  only  heard  'em, 
but  I  calc'late  'twas  the  steamer  and  the  rope- 
and-ladder.  But  the  last  one  was  a  great  big 
red-painted  wagon  like  the  paterole,  and  chock-a- 
block  full  of  firemen,  some  sitting,  some  standing, 
some  hanging  on  behind,  all  whooping  like  wild 
Injuns,  and  the  driver  with  a  whip  lashing  out  at 
them  horses,  not  hitting  'em  once,  you  understand, 
Sally,  but  whacking  at  'em  zif  he  meant  to  every 
minute,  and  a-scaring  them  poor  beasts  nigh  unto 
death !  A  turrible  racket !  And  you  deef  to  it !" 

Miss  Sloane  yawned,  then  rejoined,  importantly, 
"My  mind  was  dealing  with  other  things." 

"I  was  in  hopes  you'd  noticed  where  they  went 
to,"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  reproachfully. 


THE  FIRE  WAGON  75 

"P'raps  'twas  the  dump,"  hazarded  Miss 
Sloane. 

"The  dump's  the  other  way,  Sally  Sloane! 
And  you  know  it  when  you're  awake !  Where,  oh, 
where  is  that  fire?" 

"There's  another  one  coming,  Samanthy!" 
called  Mrs.  Dodd,  loudly. 

Clang !  Clang !  Clang !  A  "great  big  red-painted 
wagon"  loaded  with  jostling  laughing  men  swept 
by,  and  Miss  Sally  Sloane  regarded  them  frown- 
ingly,  commenting: 

"Joking  and  training  and  carrying  on  zif  they 
was  on  their  way  to  a  poppy-show!  Done  just 
the  same  when  our  chicken-coops  got  on  fire,  and 
our  big  Shanghai  crower  lost  his  tail-feathers. 
They  hooted  at  the  poor  misfortinate  creetur. 
M},  but  I  was  hopping!  And  I'd  've  walked 
right  out  and  treated  'em  to  a  discourse  on 
manners  only  for  pa;  he  wouldn't  let  me  out 
of  the  house,  said  fires  wa'n't  any  place  for 
women." 

And  now  along  the  corridor  in  her  rolling  chair 
trundled  old  Mrs.  Farwell,  assisted  on  the  one  side 
by  Mrs.  Demeter  Ford,  and  on  the  other  by  bash- 
ful Mrs.  Prendergast. 

"Where  is  the  fire?"  piped  Mrs.  Farwell,  in  her 
thin  tremulous  tones.  "Tell  me,  tell  me !" 

"We  ain't  diskivered  yet,  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs. 
Wells,  with  the  respect  due  from  youth  to  age, 
while  Mrs.  Ford,  loosing  her  grip  on  the  chair, 
stepped  forward,  proposing: 


76  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"Why  not  go  out  on  the  veranda?  That  would 
furnish  us  a  grand  view." 

Mrs.  Wells  grasped  the  brass  knob  of  the  upper 
piazza  door  and  tugged  and  pulled  vigorously, 
but  in  vain,  and  she  desisted  with : 

"  'Tain't  any  use !  It's  locked,  and  prob'ly 
Miss  Timpkins  has  hid  the  key." 

For  the  fifth  time  the  air  was  shattered  by  the 
penetrating  clamor  of  a  fire  gong,  and  little  Mrs. 
Wells  almost  wept. 

"Must  be  a  turrible,  turrible  fire,"  she  wailed. 
"And  me  never  seeing  a  real  fire  in  all  my  life, 
not  even  a  teenchy  bit  of  a  blaze.  My  Absalom, 
he'd  say,  'When  the  fire-bells  ring,  Samanthy, 
you  stay  put !'  And  in  them  days  no  man  would 
marry  you  'less  you  promised  to  obey,  and  having 
promised,  there  wa'n't  but  one  thing  to  do  and  I 
done  it.  Even  the  year  we  was  in  San  Francisco, 
on  board  his  ship  in  the  harbor,  when  the  fire 
broke  out  in  the  city  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  even- 
ing, Absalom  said,  'Go  to  bed,  Samanthy !'  and 
sore  against  the  grain,  I  crawled  into  my  berth — 
on  the  Golden  Gate  side  'twas,  too — and  he  rowed 
ashore,  and  come  back  bright  and  early  next 
morning  to  tell  me  Frisco  was  in  ashes,  and  me 
not  even  getting  a  blink  at  it !  O  me !  O  my !" 
She  wrung  her  small  hands  despairingly. 

Old  Mrs.  Farwell  wagged  her  head  sagely. 

"That's  men!"  she  affirmed.  "Their  idees 
about  women  is  mostly  measured  out  in  the  same 
little  round  pint  cup.  Now  there  was  my  pa, 


THE  FIRE  WAGON  77 

good  a  man  as  ever  trod  shoeleather,  but  see  what 
he  did.  When  the  British  burned  Portland, 
Maine,  he  and  my  ma  were  there  on  their  honey- 
moon, and  what  did  my  pa  up  and  do  but  hire  an 
old  nag  and  lug  ma  behind  him  on  it  ten  miles 
out  into  the  country,  back  to  them  flames  every 
rod  of  the  way,"  impressively,  "till  he  landed  her 
in  at  Grandpa  Dunham's.  Then  he  struck  back 
hotfoot  and  witnessed  the  whole  performance  from 
eend  to  eend.  Worse  and  more  of  it  if  Grandpa 
Dunham  didn't  travel  along,  too!  Both  of  'em 
saying  real  loving  and  affectionate  that  they 
couldn't  enj'y  it  a  mite  'less  their  wives  was  safe 
from  danger.  Grandma  Dunham  and  my  ma  they 
took  it  pretty  hard,  and  grandma,  she  was  a 
spirity  old  body,  said  their  wives  didn't  want  to 
be  safe  from  danger.  What  they  wanted  was  to 
see  the  goings-on!" 

Mrs.  Farwell  paused  and  bashful  Mrs.  Pren- 
dergast  ventured,  timidly: 

"Men,  they  mean  well." 

"Exactly,"  conceded  Mrs.  Ford.  "But  they're 
considerable  likely  to  forget  that  women's  human 
and  own  just  as  many  eyes  and  ears  as  them." 
She  halted  as  there  flashed  by  a  huge  red  vehicle 
with  its  noisy  hilarious  occupants,  and  then  spoke 
with  decision,  "I'm  going  down  to  investigate." 

"Miss  Timpkins  won't  like  it,"  cautioned  Mrs. 
Wells,  but  Mrs.  Dodd  encouraged: 

"I  glory  in  your  spunk,  Demeter  Ford!  Go 
right  along,  only  cover  your  bald  spot  so  if  you 


78  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

do  ketch  the  influenzy,  nobody  can't  twit  you  of 
being  keerless." 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Ford,  her  apron  thrown 
about  her  head  and  clutched  vise-like  beneath  her 
chin,  was  marching  down  the  path,  and  as  her 
companions  gazed  from  above,  Mrs.  Wells  ex- 
claimed : 

"Deary,  deary  me!  Betty  Macdonald's  met 
her  and  is  bringing  her  back!" 

The  little  woman,  scudding  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  hovered  there  till  she  beheld  in  the  lower 
hall  the  gleam  of  Betty's  ruddy  locks.  Then  she 
demanded,  eagerly: 

"Where's   the  fire?" 

But  the  maid,  unheeding  the  query,  said  plain- 
tively as  she  climbed  the  stairs,  "Can't  I  just  run 
out  to  the  letter-box  'thout — " 

"Don't  be  cross,  Betty!"  adjured  Mrs.  Wells. 
"All  we  want  is  to  know  where  the  fire  is." 

Betty  stared.  "Fire!"  she  repeated.  "What 
fire?" 

Mrs.  Dodd's  deep  contralto  boomed  forth  from 
her  room:  "The  fire!  The  fire  all  them  fire- 
teams  are  chasing  to !  Five — six  of  'em  kiting 
along  the  road  zif  they  was  lightning-bugs,  and 
not  one  of  'em  come  back  yet!  And  my  suzzy 
me,  but  here's  another !  You  can  see  it  for  your- 
self if  you  can't  take  our  word  for  it,  us  half  a 
dozen  church-members,  all  in  good  and  reg'lar — " 

Clang!  Clang!  Clang!  A  fire-wagon  sped  by, 
the  bay  horses  dashing  recklessly  under  the  threat 


THE  FIRE  WAGON  79 

of  the  lash,  the  driver  roaring  lustily,  and  the 
blue-coats  behind  him  waking  the  echoes. 

"Hear  that,"  triumphed  Mrs.  Dodd,  "and  act 
zif  there  wa'n't  any  fire!" 

"Well,  there  ain't  any  fire!"  asserted  Betty. 
"They're  just  exercising  a  span  of  Vermont  horses 
that  ain't  ever  been  in  a  city  before.  The  police- 
man on  our  beat  told  me  all  about  it." 

Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  snapped.  "A  new 
span  of  horses !"  she  gibed.  "Betty  Macdonald, 
there's  been  seven  span  raced  by  already!" 

"No,  no !"  protested  Betty.  "One  span's  been 
round  seven  times.  Now  you  all  settle  down  and 
watch  out.  Like  enough,  they'll  come  again." 

And  they  came  again,  gong  clanging,  "Clear 
the  track!  Clear  the  track!"  wagon-wheels 
swiftly  whirling,  horses  racing,  driver  shouting, 
firemen  cheering,  and  Mrs.  Wells  sighed,  while 
Mrs.  Dodd  expressed  the  general  sentiment, 
"Don't  men  have  the  elegantest  times?" 


CHAPTER  IX 
THE  DAYS  FOR  OLD  GLORY 

IT  was  June.  At  least  so  it  was  termed  in  the 
almanac,  but  it  was  following  straitly  in  the  tra- 
ditions of  that  preceding  month  of  May  which  had 
been,  to  quote  Mrs.  Dodd,  "as  cold  as  Pharaoh's 
heart." 

Up  from  King  Philip's  Bay  was  whistling  a 
bleak  and  cutting  wind,  and  little  Mrs.  Wells, 
taking  her  morning  "constitutional,"  shivered 
and  drew  more  tightly  about  her  shoulders  her 
old-fashioned  Paisley  shawl.  It  was  later  than 
usual  when  presently  she  crossed  the  end  of  Har- 
mony Street,  and  looking  a  few  rods  down  its 
length  saw  the  last  pupil  just  entering  the  pri- 
mary school.  The  bell  ceased  tolling,  the  clock 
struck  nine,  and  there  was  an  upward  flight  of 
the  Stars  and  Stripes  to  the  top  of  the  flagpole  in 
the  school  yard,  a  momentary  flutter  of  the  gor- 
geous bunting  at  the  apex  and  the  unfolding  and 
floating  out  of  the  banner  upon  the  brisk  breeze. 

Mrs.  Wells  halted  and  for  a  few  minutes 
watched  entranced,  then  turned  reluctantly  home- 
ward, humming: 

"Oh,  say,  can  you  see  by  the  dawn's  early  light 
What  so  proudly  we  hailed  at  the  twilight's  last  gleam- 
ing?" 

80 


THE  DAYS  FOR  OLD  GLORY         81 

She  unconsciously  sang  the  next  words  quite 
aloud, 

"Whose  broad  stripes  and  bright  stars  through  the 

clouds  of  the  fight 
O'er   the    ramparts    we   watched   were   so    gallantly 

streaming !" 

And  a  gardener,  clipping  the  privet  hedge  before 
one  of  Torbolton's  great  mansions,  lifted  his 
head  to  peer  across  the  shrubbery  and  approve: 

"Weel  sangit,  ma'am !" 

And  Mrs.  Wells,  pink  with  confusion,  fled  pre- 
cipitately along  the  avenue  to  the  Home  where  she 
was  soon  announcing  to  Mrs.  Dodd : 

"Old  Glory's  waving  on  top  of  the  Harmony 
Street  Primary  School  flagpole  to-day.  My,  but 
it's  a  splendid  sight!" 

"It's  always  a  splendid  sight,"  agreed  Mrs. 
Dodd,  with  enthusiasm.  "I  just  love  it!  But 
what  on  airth  is  it  up  to-day  for?  I  don't  seem  to 
recolleck  anything  special  along  this  time  of  year. 
What  day  of  the  month  is  it,  anyhow?" 

"The  third,"  replied  Mrs.  Wells,  promptly. 

"Well,  what's  June  third?'  asked  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"That  will  tell  the  story." 

Mrs.  Wells  shook  her  head.  "That's  just  what 
I've  been  cudgeling  my  brains  about,"  she  con- 
fessed. "In  a  general  way,  I'm  first-class  on  his- 
tory. Now  if  this  was  only  April,  I  wouldn't 
hesitate  a  mite.  There's  April  twelfth,  that's 
Sumter,  the  nineteenth  is  Lexington  and  Concord, 


82  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

the  ninth  Lee  surrendered,  and  if  'twas  May,  why 
May  fourth  is  our  own  Independence  Day  and — " 

"But  'tain't  April  or  May!"  asserted  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "It's  June!" 

"June  seventeenth  is  Bunker  Hill  Day,"  pro- 
nounced Sally  Sloane,  waddling  in  from  across 
the  way,  where  she  had  been  listening  interest- 
edly. "But,"  loftily,  "you  don't  celebrate  that 
in  these  plantations.  That's  good  old  Massachu- 
setts' own  particular.  My  ma  was  a  Massachu- 
setts woman,  and  I  know.  Leastwise,  'twas  the 
District  of  Maine  in  them  days,  but  it's  all  the 
same.  Howsomever,  Mrs.  Wells,  in  my  opinion, 
it's  more'n  likely  that  flag  you  saw  just  meant 
that  somebody'd  passed  away.  Wa'n't  it  hanging 
halfway  down  the  pole  and  all  kind  of  droopy?" 

"No,  'twa'n't!"  retorted  Mrs.  Wells,  with  spirit. 
"  'Twas  clean  up  to  the  tippest  top,  and  blow- 
ing out  straight's  a  string!" 

"H-m-m-m!"  said  Miss  Sloane,  thoughtfully. 
Then  sinking  into  Mrs.  Wells's  low  wicker 
sewing  chair  which  creaked  protestingly  under 
Miss  Sloane's  ample  avoirdupois,  with,  "S'pose  I 
might's  well  be  comfortable  as  long  as  I  stay," 
she  went  on,  "It  must  mean  something,  certain 
sure.  Now,  if  I  only  had  my  calendar  the  town 
give  me  every  January  when  pa  was  alive  and  was 
postmaster,  and  we  lived  in  our  own  owned  house, 
and  I  wa'n't  in  an  institution,  I'd  find  out  for  you 
in  a  jiffy!"  She  sighed  heavily,  "Them  are  the 
privileges  I  miss !  A  new  calendar  every  year,  a 


THE  DAYS  FOR  OLD  GLORY         83 

leather-covered  memorandum  book  with  a  pencil 
tied  onto  it  with  a  pink  ribbon,  and  if  I  wanted  a 
postage  stamp  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  drop  two 
cents  into  the  till."  She  swayed  jerkily  to  and 
fro,  while  little  Mrs.  Wells  cast  anxious  glances 
at  the  slender  reeds  of  her  chair. 

"I've  got  a  calendar,  an  elegant  one  my  cousin 
Albertine  down  in  Pictou  presented  me  with 
Easter,"  volunteered  Betty  Macdonald,  who  had 
just  laid  a  pile  of  freshly  laundered  clothes  on  the 
bed.  "I'll  fetch  it  to  oncet,  Mrs.  Wells." 

There  was  a  rush  up  the  attic  stairs,  a  rush 
down,  and  Betty  re-entered,  proclaiming,  "I've 
got  it." 

"Thank  you,  Betty,"  said  Mrs.  Wells.  "Now 
your  eyes  are  younger'n  mine,  just  you  take  a 
peek  inside,  and  see  what  happened  June  the 
third." 

"I  can  tell  you  that  without  peeking,"  giggled 
Betty,  "but  here  'tis,  all  printed  out."  She 
opened  the  calendar  with  a  flourish.  "  'Here's  to 
the  health  of  the  King !  God  bless  him  !  George 
the  Fifth,  King  of  Great  Britain  and  Emperor  of 
India,  son  of  Edward  the  Seventh  and  Alexandra 
his  queen,  born  1865.'  Our  King's  birthday, 
ladies !"  She  beamed  upon  the  three  women. 

Miss  Sally  Sloane  stopped  rocking;  Mrs.  Dodd 
dropped  her  knitting;  and  Mrs.  Wells,  overcome 
by  a  sudden  weakness  in  her  knees, — she  had  seen 
that  flash  in  Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  before, — sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed. 


84.  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"My  land !"  exclaimed  Miss  Sloane,  with  empha- 
sis. 

"My  landee!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dodd,  with  more 
emphasis.  "I  guess  you  don't  know  what  you're 
talking  about,  Betty  Macdonald!  Our  Star- 
spangled  banner  up  for  the  King  of  Great 
Britain's  birthday !  Why,  we  wouldn't  done  that 
for  Queen  Victoria  herself,  let  alone  any  of  her 
men-folks !  That  wa'n't  what  my  Great-grandsir 
Graham  fit,  bled  and  died  at  Bunker  Hill  for!" 

"No,  sir-ree !  Nor  mine  at  Saratogy !"  shrilly 
declared  Miss  Sloane.  "Nor  the  other  one  that 
went  barefoot  at  Valley  Forge !  And  my  pa  was 
out  in  the  coast  defense  in  '12!  You  just  ought 
to've  heerd  his  tales!" 

"I  didn't  have  any  one  out  in  '12,"  interrupted 
Mrs.  Dodd,  excitedly.  "Good  reason  why!  They 
all  was  dead  or  wa'n't  born !  But  they  took  their 
end  of  the  log  other  times.  Uncle  Abner  stormed 
the  fort  at  Chapultepec,  my  husband,  Boldwood 
Dodd,  lost  a  leg  in  the  Wilderness,  and  I,"  defi- 
antly, "was  a  fighting  McGay  myself  before  I  was 
married,  Betty  Macdonald !" 

Poor  Betty,  aghast  at  the  avalanche  she  had 
brought  down  upon  herself,  stared  in  bewilder- 
ment, and  little  Mrs.  Wells  wrung  her  hands. 

"Tut!  tut!"  A  decisive  if  gentle  voice  was 
speaking  from  the  hall.  Miss  Timpkins  had  heard 
the  battle  raging  from  afar  off,  and  had  now  ap- 
peared upon  the  scene.  "Betty  Macdonald,  why 
areri't  you  about  your  work?  Ladies,  ladies,  you 


THE  DAYS  FOR  OLD  GLORY         85 

know  the  rules !     You  musn't  raise  your  voices !" 

"What  they  raising  the  flag  on  the  Harmony 
Street  Primary  School  for,  then?"  belligerently 
demanded  Mrs.  Dodd.  "She  says — "  pointing  an 
accusing  finger  at  Betty,  who  tearfully  protested: 

"I  didn't !     I  never !" 

"I  don't  know  what  they  are  raising  the  flag 
for,"  returned  Miss  Timpkins,  "but  it's  easily 
ascertained.  Betty,  you  go  to  the  telephone,  and 
call  up  the  schoolhouse  and  find  out." 

There  was  an  interval  of  silence  in  the  southwest 
front  corner  room  while  everyone  listened  to  the 
one-sided  telephone  conversation.  They  heard 
Betty's  question,  "What's  your  flag  up  to-day 
for?"  Then,  "Yes,  sir.  Yes,  sir;  thank  you, 
sir !" 

A  second  laterj  Betty's  ruddy  head  bobbed 
above  the  balustrade. 

"Well?"  said  Miss  Timpkins. 

"Yes'm,"  said  Betty,  breathlessly,  "the  janitor, 
he  says  it  ain't  nothing  special.  Just  the  law. 
He  raises  the  flag  every  day!" 


THE  INVITATION 

AND  now  it  was  real  June ;  June  roses  were 
blooming  in  the  garden  of  the  Home,  June  sun- 
shine was  glinting  across  the  lawn,  and  into  the 
open  windows  June  breezes  were  wafting  gusts  of 
gay  music. 

"Now  they've  struck  up  'Ho,  lassies  and  lads, 
get  leave  of  your  dads !'  "  announced  little  Mrs. 
Samantha  Wells.  "O  me !  O  my !"  wistfully, 
"Wouldn't  I  admire  to  be  up  on  them  college 
grounds  ?" 

"Same  here !"  sighed  her  roommate.  "And," 
Mrs.  Dodd  spoke  with  sudden  resentment, 
"we  would  be,  too,  if  that  college  boy  that  tended 
our  furnace  had  done  his  duty  by  us.  'Member, 
Samanthy  Wells,  how  I  tied  up  his  sore  thumb  in 
best  Rooshy  salve,  some  I'd  had  hid  away  on  my 
closet  shelf  this  seven  long  years  and  more  ?  And 
how  you  catered  to  his  appetite  with  one  of  Peter 
Rawdon's  Sheldon  pears  last  winter,  and  how  Mrs. 
Prendergast  smelled  that  woodwork  a-scorching, 
and  pre-ambled  down  to  that  cellar  at  dark  mid- 
night and  shut  off  them  drafts  and  never  tattle- 
taled  to  nobody  ?  But,"  stormily,  "here  we  ladies 
be,  not  an  invite  for  one  of  us,  only  for  our 

matron,  who,  fur's  I  can  find  out,  never  did  one 

86 


THE  INVITATION  87 

identical  thing  for  him  'cept  pay  him  his  celery 
every  Saturday  night !"  Her  black  eyes  snapped. 
"Say  what  you  will,  Samanthy  Wells,  I  call  it 
peculiar !" 

"It  is  peculiar,"  placated  Mrs.  Wells.  "How- 
somever,  my  ma  taught  me,  'Judge  not !'  and  like 
enough  there's  an  excellent  reason  if  we  only 
sensed  it.  F'rinstance,  mebbe  there  ain't  room." 

"Room!"  scoffed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Room!  Why, 
away  back  in  the  middle  ages  of  the  last  centoory, 
when  there  wa'n't  any  tickets  and  it  was,  'Walk  in 
and  welcome,'  to  the  whole  of  Torbolton,  there 
was  room  a-plenty ;  and  that  was  even  afore 
them  golfing  linkses  that  stretch  away  now 
a  quarter  mile  down  to  tother  road  was 
drained  off.  Then  'twas  Dogwood  Swamp,  just 
brimming  over  with  bullfrogs  and  mud-turkles  and 
skeeters.  My  suzzy  me!"  she  rubbed  her  chubby 
wrists  reminiscently.  "How  them  skeeters  did 
enj'y  themselves  Feet  Shampeter  nights,  when  me 
and  Boldwood  and  the  Hitchinses  and  the  Millinses 
and  the  Jack  Buckinses  clim  Quinton  Hill  and 
meandered  about  on  them  three  campuses  all  set 
round  with  tall  ellums  and  the  walls  covered  thick 
with  that  shiny-leaved  thanatopsis.  No,  no,  Sa- 
manthy," she  wagged  her  head  judicially,  "guess 
you'll  have  to  cunjer  up  a  better  'scuse  than  that." 

But  as  little  Mrs.  Wells  had  apparently  no 
other  excuse  to  offer,  Mrs.  Dodd  went  on : 

"I've  been  in  to  see  Miss  Timpkins,  and  she 
fetched  out  that  invite,  and  we  studied  it  from  all 


88  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

points  of  the  compass,  upside  down,  back-end-to, 
ampersand.  But  when  we  got  through  'twas  just 
the  same: 

Miss   Maria  Timpkins, 

Corner   The  Avenue  and   The  Boulevard. 

Only  that  and  nothing  more.  With  inside  writ' 
across  the  admission  ticket,  'Compliments  of  Slater 
Jones.'  That's  the  boy  that  tended  the  furnace, 
you  know.  And  Miss  Timpkins  said — I  calculate 
she  wouldn't  had  it  happen  for  a  whole  bucketful 
of  Tom  Benton's  mint  drops — p'raps  she'd  better 
stay  to  home,  sort  of  rebuke  him  by  her  absence, 
as  it  were.  But  I  said,  'For  pity's  sake,  no !  We 
ain't  a-cutting  off  our  nose  to  spite  our  face.' 
And  we  was  depending  on  her  to  report  all  the  car- 
ryings-on. She  was  'most  ready  when  I  left,  had 
on  her  sky-blue  frock  with  the  lace  frills,  patent- 
leather  shoes,  brandy-spandy  new  white  gloves, 
and  was  just  going  to  pin  on  her  hat,  that 
'Linger-longer-Lucy'  one,  wreathed  around  the 
crown  with  forget-me-nots."  She  added  as  the 
rustle  of  stiffly-starched  petticoats  sounded  in  the 
corridor,  "Here  she  comes  now." 

Ten  minutes  afterward,  Miss  Maria  Timpkins, 
having  passed  beneath  the  delighted  inspection  of 
her  little  world,  was  sauntering  up  the  avenue, 
murmuring : 

"It  does  seem  frightfully  peacocky  of  me  to 
parade  myself  like  that  before  the  old  ladies,  but 
they  like  it,  and  I'm  glad  to  do  anything  I  can  to 


THE  INVITATION  89 

make  up  for  their  disappointment  at  not  going. 
After  all,"  she  smiled  good-humorecHy,  "as  the  big 
man  said  when  his  little  wife  beat  him  with  the 
flyflapper,  'It  doesn't  hurt  me  and  it  amuses 
her!'" 

"Looks  fine,  don't  she?"  observed  Mrs.  Dodd 
from  above.  Then,  "I  tell  you  what,  Samanthy 
Wells,  let's  us  celebrate  this  festal  day,  too! 
Dress  up  in  our  best  bibs  and  tuckers."  She  rose 
ponderously.  "I'll  don  my  black  grenadine. 
You  all  say  it's  real  becoming,  and  when  I've 
scraped  together  a  few  sou-markees  and  coaxed 
my  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to  Holt  to  apply  on  a 
shrimp-pink  front,  I'll  take  solid  comfort  in  it  my- 
self." As  she  lifted  down  the  gown  from  its  hook, 
she  ordered,  amiably,  "You  get  on  your  satin- 
striped  nainsook  polonay  and  your  steel  gray 
morehair  skirt  and  kite  out  and  roust  up  the 
others  and  tell  them,  'Go  and  do  likewise,'  and  to 
rig  out  old  Mrs.  Farwell  in  the  darned  bobbinet 
fisher  mantle  she  was  presented  with  on  her  four- 
score and  eleventh  birthday.  Then  we'll  all 
promenade  out  on  the  top  verandy  and  watch  the 
folks  travel  by,  and  show  off  our  good  clothes. 
We  ain't  had  a  chanst  to  afore  in  a  dog's  age ! 
Miss  Timpkins,  she's  so  retiring!" 

Presently  the  inmates  of  the  Home,  having  as- 
sembled in  the  southwest  front  corner  room,  Mrs. 
Wells  sallied  forth  to  summon  Betty  Macdonald 
to  open  the  upper  veranda  door.  But  as  she 
reached  the  stair-head,  there  on  the  floor  was  a 


90  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

square   white   envelope.     She  picked    it    up    and 
scurrying  back,  declared: 

"Here's  Miss  Timpkins's  invite!  She  must 
have  lost  it  out  of  her  redicule.  It's  just  as  you 
said,  Sereny,"  scanning  the  address : 

Miss  Maria  Timpkins, 

Corner   The  Avenue   and   The   Boulevard. 

"I  wonder,"  pensively,  "did  she  forget  her 
ticket?  If  she  did,  they  won't  'low  her  through 
the  gate.  Mebbe  I'd  ought  to  inquire  within." 
And  at  Mrs.  Dodd's  nod  of  encouragement,  the 
little  woman  thrust  her  fingers  inside  the  envelope 
and  wriggled  them  to  and  fro.  "It  ain't  here," 
she  remarked.  "But — but — "  hesitatingly,  "I 
s'pose  you  seen  both  envelopes,  Sereny?" 

"There  wa'n't  only  the  one,"  asserted  Mrs. 
Dodd,  but  little  Mrs.  Wells  was  excitedly  separat- 
ing the  edges  of  two  envelopes,  and  now  read  from 
the  inner  one,  "Miss  Maria  Timpkins  and — and — 
Do  you  hear  that,  Sereny  Dodd  ?  Not  Miss  Maria 
Timpkins  all  by  her  lonesome,  but  Miss  Maria 
Timpkins  and — " 

"And  what?"  demanded  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"And  all- — all!"  continued  Mrs.  Wells  in 
rapturous  accents.  "All!  Do  you  hear 
that?" 

"If  'tain't  too  much  trouble,  Samanthy  Wells," 
fumed  Mrs.  Dodd,  "we  ladies  would  like  to  know 
all  what?" 

"It's  all  of  us,  Sereny!"  exulted  Mrs.  Wells. 


THE  INVITATION  91 

"Miss  Maria  Tirnpkins  and  all  the  Ladies  of  the 
Torbolton  Home !" 

Mrs.  Dodd's  jaw  dropped.  She  sat  quite 
speechless,  while  Mrs.  Wells  lamented: 

"0  me!  O  my!  Slater  Jones'll  feel  turrible 
bad!  Just  turrible!" 

The  next  instant  Mrs.  Dodd  had  rallied,  and 
was  affirming,  "My  Boldwood,  he  always  advised, 
'Don't  you  never  cry  over  spilled  milk,  Sereny,  till 
you're  positive  sure  'tis  spilled.'  And  this," 
sturdily,  "ain't.  Only  the  milk  can's  tipped  a 
mite  sidewise  and  the  leastest  speck  leaked  out ! 
'Tain't  seven-thirty  yet."  She  surveyed  her  com- 
panions with  satisfaction,  and  smoothing  the 
silken  folds  of  her  gown,  rejoiced,  "And  here  be 
we  ladies,  with  our  lamps  all  trimmed  and  burn- 
ing." 

It  was  possibly  a  half-hour  later  that  Miss 
Timpkins,  pacing  sedately  along  the  broad  mall 
that  crosses  the  center  campus  of  the  college 
grounds,  was  greeted  by  a  stalwart  young  man, 
"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Timpkins  ?  Where  are  the 
old  ladies?  It  is  so  warm  and  pleasant  to-night 
and  the  Home  is  so  near  that  I  had  hoped — " 

As  the  matron  gazed,  for  a  second  not  recogniz- 
ing the  young  fellow  in  evening  clothes  as  the  boy 
who  tended  the  furnace,  the  boy  in  the  dingy 
patched  jersey  and  the  funny  little  cap  with  the 
button  on  top  like  the  grand  panjandrum's,  he 
broke  off  and  with  an  abrupt,  "Excuse  me !"  strode 
by  her. 


92  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

Turning,  Miss  Timpkins  beheld  just  outside  the 
Centennial  Gates  a  plump  old  lady  with  curly 
white  hair,  a  plump  old  lady  in  black  grenadine — 
to  speak  plainly,  Mrs.  Serena  Dodd!  Behind  her, 
huddled  about  old  Mrs.  Farwell  who,  adorned  with 
the  "darned  bobbinet  fisher  mantle,"  was  sitting 
very  upright  in  her  wheeled  chair,  were  little  Mrs. 
Samantha  Wells,  Mrs.  Demeter  Ford,  Miss 
Sally  Sloane  and  bashful  Mrs.  Prendergast,  all 
with  confident  eyes  fixed  upon  their  leader,  as 
she  exhorted  the  grim  policeman  and  waved  a 
square  white  envelope  before  his  stern  counte- 
nance. 

"It's  all  right,  officer !"  shouted  Slater  Jones. 
"Let  'era  in!" 

Another  moment,  and  Mrs.  Dodd,  advancing 
toward  the  astonished  matron,  was  proclaiming 
loudly : 

"We  diskivered  our  invite,  ma'am!  'Twas  on 
this  inside  envelope,  you'n  me  never  noted.  So 
we've  stepped  right  along  to  the  Feet  Shampeter. 
Nora  and  Betty  each  had  a  man-body  in  the 
kitchen  and  they  brung  Mrs.  Farwell  clean  down 
to  the  concrete,  and  they're  awful  accommodating. 
They're  a-going  to  visit  with  Nora  and  Betty  till 
we  get  back,  and  then  lug  her  up  again.  My 
suzzy  me !  But  ain't  this  gee-lorious !  My  Bold- 
wood  wouldn't  never've  known  it." 

Blissfully  she  regarded  the  Chinese  lanterns 
festooned  in  glowing  lines  from  tree  to  tree,  the 
platforms  built  for  this  day  only,  decorated  with 


THE  INVITATION  93 

green  boughs  and  gorgeous  bunting,  the  brilliant 
banners  marking  every  window,  the  scintillating 
electric  lights  spelling  out  mystic  words  above 
certain  doors,  and  the  throngs  of  pretty  maidens 
and  gallant  knights. 

Then,  as  if  by  magic,  several  young  fellows  had 
joined  Slater  Jones,  and  Miss  Timpkins's  wards, 
each  escorted  by  a  cheerful  youth, — two  pushing 
old  Mrs.  Farwell's  chair, — were  trudging  off  to 
the  merry  strains  of  "rag-time,"  while  Slater 
Jones,  Mrs.  Dodd  clinging  fast  to  his  arm,  was 
reassuring  the  matron : 

"We'll  have  'em  back  here  safe  and  sound  before 
ten." 

The  clock  in  the  college  belfry  was  ringing  out 
that  hour  when  a  weary  but  happy  little  proces- 
sion was  traversing  the  western  slope  of  Quinton 
Hill,  with  Mrs.  Dodd  chuckling: 

"I've  had  the  elegantest  time  I  ever  had  in  all 
my  life !  Set  right  up  on  one  of  them  piazzys 
overlooking  the  front  campus  afore  that  'Hi !  Hi ! 
There!'  fraternity  that  Slater  Jones  belongs  to, 
and  et  pink  strawberry  ice-cream  and  cunning 
little  pink  frosted  hearts  and  di'monds  his  ma 
sent  down  all  the  long  road  from  Possytwixet. 
'Tain't  no  use  a-talking,  I  ain't  tasted  nothing 
like  'em  since  I  made  'em  myself;  Bolflwood,  he 
wouldn't  never  have  any  but  the  best.  She  baked 
'em  special  for  us  ladies,  and,"  patting  the  black 
silk  pocket  that  swung  at  her  side,  "I've  got  one 
apiece  for  all  of  your  breakfasts  to-morrow,  not 


94  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

to  mention  a  box  of  them  checkerberry  wafers  to 
treat  Betty  and  Nora  and  them  men-bodies  this 
very  night." 

"As  for  me,"  avowed  Miss  Sally  Sloane,  "I 
testify  there  wa'n't  no  stint  to  nothing.  'Tenny- 
rate,  at  the  spreads  my  young  man  took  me  into. 
I  sampled,"  complacently,  "chocolate  eclairs, 
angel's  food,  Oriental  kisses,  pineapple  and 
orange  sherbet,  vanilla  ice-cream  with  crushed 
ros'b'ries  poured  over  it,  lemonade  and  two  good 
cups  of  hot  coffee  with  oodlins  of  yellow  cream  and 
three  lumps  of  sugar  in  each.  'Twas  lucky  for 
Mrs.  Prendergast  I  met  her,  for  all  she  was  doing 
was  saying,  'No,  thank  you!'  to  every  mortal 
thing.  But  I  soon  straightened  that  out,  and  she 
finally  done  most's  well's  I  did.  Didn't  you,  Mrs. 
Prendergast  ?" 

And  as  an  embarrassed  inarticulate  response 
followed  from  bashful  Mrs.  Prendergast,  Miss 
Sloane  proceeded  briskly: 

"What'd  you  have,  Mrs.  Ford?" 

"I  couldn't  say  just  what,"  answered  Mrs. 
Ford,  "though  'twas  all  splendid.  You  see,  my 
escort  set  me  out  a  chair  by  the  brass  band,  and 
the  leader — he  blew  the  organ  when  I  sang  down 
to  the  old  First — recollected  me,  and  hopped  down 
and  shook  hands,  and  said  he'd  play  anything  I'd 
choose.  That's  how  we  got  'The  Gipsy's  Warn- 
ing,' and  'Hark!  Hark!  the  Lark !'  and  '  'Tis  but  a 
Little  Faded  Flower,'  and  somehow,"  apologetic- 
ally, "when  there's  music  in  the  air,  I  don't  seem  to 


THE  INVITATION  95 

realize  what  I  eat  or  what  I  drink  or  whatsoever 
I  do !" 

"My  beau,"  giggled  little  Mrs.  Wells,  "piloted 
me  up  to  the  Jimmy  Nation  place,  where  they  was 
dancing,  floating  around  zif  they  was  puff-balls 
on  a  southerly  gale.  I  never  danced  none  myself, 
and  never  got  so  near  folks  dancing  only  oncet 
afore.  That  was  when  Absalom  and  me  went  to 
the  Sons  of  Isaac's  picnic,  and  they'd  laid  a  nice 
plank  floor  for  them  and  their  ladies  to  dance  on, 
and  I  stole  up  to  peek  at  'em  when  Absalom,  he 
ketched  me  and  gripped  me  by  the  shoulder  and 
marched  me  away,  gentle,  but  tumble  firm !  And 
I  never  saw  the  finish.  'Twas  the  Court  Qua- 
driddle  they  was  dancing  to-night.  It  looked 
turrible  easy," — she  hoppity-skipped  joyously, — 
"and  I'm  'most  sure  I  could  get  the  knack  in  no 
time !" 

"I  never  danced  any,  neither,"  piped  up  old 
Mrs.  Farwell,  who  was  being  trundled  comfortably 
along  by  Miss  Timpkins.  "It  had  kind  of  gone 
by  in  my  day,  but  my  ma  was  a  great  dancer, 
went  to  a  frolic  oncet  when  she  was  sixteen  and 
coming  down  with  the  measles !  Danced  till  day- 
light did  appear,  and  when  she  got  home  you 
couldn't  put  a  pinpoint  down  on  her!  And  she'd 
given  'em  to  thirty-nine  people ! 

"She  was  so  discouraged  she  never  tried  it  again 
till  after  she  was  married,  and  then  they  mixed 
me  up  with  another  baby,  and  pa  and  ma  never 
found  it  out  till  they  reached  home,  and  there  was 


96  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

ten  miles  to  ride  back  and  exchange  us !  For 
though  'twas  a  dretful  nice  little  baby  she  had," 
Mrs.  Farwell  assured  her  listeners  benignantly, 
"  'twa'n't  me !  But  whilst  pa  and  ma  was  gal- 
loping along  the  lower  road,  the  other  couple  had 
started  for  our  house  by  the  upper  one,  so  they 
missed  each  other.  Then  they  all  put  back  hot- 
foot, pa  and  ma  along  the  upper  road  this  time 
and  tother  couple  on  the  lower  one,  and —  Dear, 
dear,  dear!"  yawned  Mrs.  Farwell.  "How  tired 
I  be!" 

"Almost  there,"  cheered  Miss  Timpkins ;  and 
sure  enough,  there  was  the  Home  looming  up 
through  the  darkness,  with  Betty  and  Nora  and 
the  two  "men-bodies"  waiting  to  assist  the 
wanderers  to  their  rooms ;  and  presently  Mrs. 
Dodd  was  exclaiming: 

"My  suzzy  me,  but  this  bed  doos  feel  good! 
And  so  long's  we've  been  and  gone  and  got  back 
from  that  Feet  Shampeter,  Sereny  Dodd — though 
she  ain't  denying  that  Miss  Timpkins  was  parlous 
unnoticing — ain't  holding  no  grudge  'gainst  noth- 
ing nor  nobody !" 


CHAPTER  XI 
THE  NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH 

JUNE  had  merged  into  July,  and  it  was  the 
afternoon  before  the  Fourth.  The  occasional 
snapping  of  a  torpedo  and  the  sputtering  of  a 
firecracker  proclaimed  that  the  celebration  had 
begun,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  was  prophesying,  lugubri- 
ously : 

"No  sleep  for  us  this  night!" 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  nodded  rueful  acquiescence, 
while  Mrs.  John  Green,  a  distant  connection  of 
Mrs.  Dodd's  from  "over  Ta'nton  way"  who  had 
driven  in  for  a  friendly  call,  gazed  at  the  two 
women  benignly,  and  suggested: 

"Why  not  ride  back  with  me  and  spend  the 
night?  We're  quiet  as  kittens  out  there." 

So  it  was  that,  several  hours  later,  Mrs.  Dodd 
and  Mrs.  Wells  were  installed  in  the  great  four- 
poster  within  the  guest  room  of  the  old  Green 
homestead,  with  their  hostess  at  the  door  bidding 
"Good  night  and  pleasant  dreams !" 

For  a  few  minutes  the  rule  of  the  Home,  "Si- 
lence after  lights  are  out,"  held  good.  Then: 

"Skeeters !"  announced  Mrs.  Dodd. 

She  slapped  her  fat  arms  vehemently,  and  little 
Mrs.  Wells,  also  slapping,  asserted  in  plaintive 

tones : 

97 


98  SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"So  they  be!  Though  truth  to  tell,  I  ain't  a 
whit  surprised,  for  Luelly,  she  owned  up  they 
didn't  lot  much  on  screens.  Liked  to  give  the 
skeeters  their  liberty  to  go  out  same's  they  came 
in!" 

"But,"  protested  Mrs.  Dodd, — slap!  slap! — 
"they  don't  go  out."  Slap!  slap!  "They  stay 
right  here  and  eat  Sereny  Dodd  up  alive !"  Slap ! 
slap !  slap ! 

"My,  but  I'm  a  silly  Billy !"  avowed  Mrs.  Wells, 
sliding  over  the  edge  of  the  bed.  "Clean  forgot 
what  I  fetched  along  for  fear  of  your  having  a  ill 
turn.  It's  elegant  for  skeeters." 

An  instant  more,  and  Mrs.  Dodd  was  rejoicing, 
"A-h-h-h-h!  Camphire,"  while  her  roommate, 
having  clambered  back  into  bed,  composed  herself 
for  slumber. 

Presently  Mrs.  Dodd  demanded,  querulously, 
"What's  that?" 

"What's  what?"  was  the  drowsy  response. 

"That  planing-mill  out  in  the  pastur." 

"Planing-mill !"  Mrs.  Wells  repeated.  "That 
ain't  no  planing-mill,  Sereny.  Them's  crickets 
chirping !" 

"Huh !"  scoffed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Next  thing  you'll 
be  saying  that  bellering  out  yonder  is  grasshop- 
pers !" 

"I  shan't  either!"  said  Mrs.  Wells.  "'Cause 
why  ?  'Tain't !  Nor  bumble-bees  nor  chipmunks 
nor  'Go  to  the  ant,  thou  sluggards !'  For  pity's 


NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH       99 

sake,  Sereny,  ain't  you  ever  been  in  the  country 
before?" 

"Not  overnight,"  confessed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Least- 
wise not  since  they  moved  me  an  infant  babe  from 
Chepiwanoxet.  But  you  needn't  get  into  such  a 
pucker  all  at  once.  What  are  them  roarers,  any- 
how?" 

"Frogs,"  answered  Mrs.  Wells,  wearily.  "Just 
bull  frogs  croaking." 

"Well,  bullfrogs  or  bulls  of  Bashan,  whichever 
they  be,  they  ain't,"  with  emphasis,  "had  one  speck 
of  bringing  up  !"  pronounced  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Hark 
to  'em,  a-mocking  at  me."  She  intoned  in  her 
deep  contralto,  "Sereny  Dodd !  Dodd !  Dodd !  'Odd ! 
'Odd!  'Odd!  'Dd!  'Dd!  'Dd!"  adding  pettishly, 
"I  s'pose  that's  a  rosebug  blethering  under  the 
window?" 

"Sho !"  deprecated  Mrs.  Wells.  "How  you  talk, 
Sereny!  That's  a  Eaty-did,  Katy-didn't.  But 
what  the  poor  dumb  animal  is  hollering  about  is 
one  of  the  Mister  Rees !  Howsomever,  they  be 
powerful  argyers,  have  it  back  and  to,  hours  on 
eend.  But,"  cheerily,  "they  don't  bother  me  any. 
It's  them  whippoorwills  mourning  from  the  woods 
beyond  that  tug  at  my  heart-strings.  Listen, 
now.  Whi-ip  po-o-or  wi-ill,  whi-ip  po-o-or  wi-ill !" 
she  chanted.  "Whi-ip  po-o-or  wi-ill!"' 

"Ur-r-r-r-r!"  shuddered  Mrs.  Dodd.  "You 
make  me  go  all  creepy-crawly,  Samanthy  Wells ! 
'Sides,  there's  a  billion  and  'leven  skeeters  feast- 


100          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

ing  on  me  this  very  second !  Gimme  the  camphire." 

"Here  'tis,"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  "and  afore  you 
drop  off,  mebbe  I'd  ought  to  'splain  to  you  what 
some  of  them  noises  be  you  ain't  sensed  yet.  That 
rasping  zif  someone  was  filing  tenpenny  nails  is  the 
locusses.  Sign  'twill  be  tumble  hot  to-morrow." 

"They  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  theirselves !" 
fumed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Hot  enough  now  'thout  no 
one  making  it  any  hotter!  Whew!"  She  fanned 
herself  with  the  sheet,  while  Mrs.  Wells  continued 
placidly  : 

"That  whish-whacking  against  the  house  is 
cause  the  wind's  riz  a  mite  and's  banging  them 
branches  about.  I  noted  them  when  we  first  arriv, 
for  thinks  I,  how  turrible  handy  for  a  robber  to 
shin  up  that  elm  tree — " 

"Robber!"  gasped  Mrs.  Dodd.     "Robber!" 

"We're  perfectly  safe,"  soothed  little  Mrs. 
Wells.  "It's  been  a  comfort  to  me  all  my  life  and 
I'd  as  lieves  as  not  pass  it  along  to  you — robbers 
don't  never  go  where  there's  naught.  My  nephew, 
Peter  Rawdon,  he  says,  'Paste  that  in  your  bunnit, 
Aunt  Samanthy.' ' 

"But  tramps  do,"  quavered  Mrs.  Dodd,  "and 
bears  and  wolves  and — " 

"They  can't!"  Mrs.  Wells  spoke  with  authority. 
"The  town's  started  a  woodyard  to  skeer  off  the 
tramps.  Luelly  told  me  so.  There  ain't  been 
even  a  Teddy  bear  here  since  the  new  President 
was  nominated,  and  as  for  wolves,  the  one  good 
thing  about  them  is  they  can't  climb  trees.  Now," 


NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH     101 

coaxingly,  "just  you  settle  down  and  catch  your 
forty  winks." 

"Provided,"  groaned  Mrs.  Dodd,  "these  skeet- 
ers  leave  me  anything  to  catch  'em  with !  Gimme 
the  camphire." 

"Hadn't  you  better  keep  it,  Sereny?"  gently 
asked  Mrs.  Wells,  and  her  roommate  conceded : 

"P'r'aps.     Then  I'll  know  where  'tis." 

The  night  wore  on.  Clutching  the  camphor 
bottle  to  her  breast,  Mrs.  Dodd  dozed  fitfully. 
She  heard  the  monotonous  whir,  whir,  of  the  wind- 
mill, the  stamping  of  the  iron-shod  hoofs  of  the 
horses  in  the  stable  and  always  the  vicious  keen- 
ing of  the  mosquitoes. 

Again  she  was  wide  awake,  questioning,  "What's 
that?"  The  gray  light  of  the  morning  was  steal- 
ing into  the  room ;  in  the  east  was  the  rosy  prom- 
ise of  the  dawn.  "Cock-a-doodle-doo !"  was  filling 
the  air. 

Mrs.  Wells  sat  up  in  bed.  "You  poor  thing !" 
she  laughed.  "That's  a  rooster,  the  big  head  one 
of  all.  I  calc'late  he's  on  the  fence,  kind  of  teach- 
ing the  little  ones.  I  guess  most  of  the  spring 
chickens  this  year  was  crowers.  Listen  to  'em 
mimicking!  Ain't  they  cute?  And  that  quack- 
ing is  the  duck  trailing  down  to  the  pond,  and 
that  outrageous  squawking  is  guinea-hens. 
There's  cows  out  there  crowding  up  to  the  bars, 
mooing  to  be  milked.  That  'Baa,  baa,  black 
sheep'  is  the  dear  little  lambkins  bleating  for  their 
mas.  The  pigs  is  squealing  for  their  breakfast, 


102          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

and  that  'Hark  from  the  tombs  a  doleful  sound,' 
is  the  pigeons  cooing." 

"That  all?"  inquired  Mrs.  Dodd,  grimly. 

"All  I  locate  now,"  was  the  amiable  rejoinder. 
"But  if  you  hear  'Gobble !  Gobble !  Gobble !'  that's 
turkeys.  Geese,  they  hiss-s,  so !  Can't  you  get 
another  nap,  Sereny?"  she  went  on,  solicitously. 
"It's  too  light  for  skeeters  now." 

"But  just  light  enough  for  flies,"  grumbled 
Mrs.  Dodd.  "And  they  have  their  liberty  in  and 
out,  too !  O  me !  O  my !"  Then,  "What's  that?" 

"That"  was  the  distant  rumbling  of  heavy 
wheels,  which  grew  louder  as  they  approached  the 
house.  There  was  the  babel  of  many  voices,  the 
measured  tread  of  many  feet,  and  a  fife  and  drum 
corps  piped  up  merrily: 

"If  you  get  there  before  I  do 
Just   tell    'em   I'm   a-coming,   too!" 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  slipped  from  the  bed,  and  pat- 
tering to  the  window,  peered  out.  "It's  soldiers, 
Sereny!"  she  reported,  gleefully.  "Soldiers,  with 
blue  jackets  and  yellow  belts  and  red  pants  !  And 
they're  carrying  the  Star-Spangled  Banner !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  craned  her  neck.  "I  see  it,  too!" 
she  exulted.  "The  gold  ball  on  the  tippest  point 
of  the  pole  and  three  bright  stars  and  the  upper 
broad  stripe!  Oh,  ain't  it  bee-yutiful ?" 

"Nothing  like  it!"  vaunted  little  Mrs.  WeUs, 
while  Mrs.  Dodd  resumed  happily: 

"And  now  I  can  see  it  all!     The  whole  on  it! 


NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH     103 

They're  rising  the  hill!  They've  stopped,  and 
now  they're  marching  into  the  field." 

"There  go  John  and  the  hired  man  and  the  dog 
chasing  after!"  cried  Mrs.  Wells.  "Oh,  don't  I 
wisht  I  was  dressed !  I'd  chase  too !" 

Boom !  The  window-sash  rattled,  the  house 
shook. 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  implored  Mrs. 
Dodd,  frantically. 

Boom !  The  door  was  pushed  open.  Mrs. 
Green  beamed  at  them  from  the  threshold.  "Dear 
me  !"  she  exclaimed.  "Did  it  wake  you  ?"  Boom ! 
"That's  too  bad !"  Boom !  "It's  the  'Up  Guards 
and  at  'em !'  from  Ta'nton.  Every  year  they  haul 
the  old  cannon  we  had  for  the  coast  defense  in 
1812  to  the  top  of  our  hill  and  welcome  in  Inde- 
pendence Day."  Boom!  "You  won't  mind  it  af- 
ter your  good  night's  rest,  though."  Boom ! 
"They  only  salute  twenty-four  times."  Boom! 
Boom !  She  was  gone. 

Boom  !  Boom  !  Bo-o-om-m-m !  Half  a  dozen 
window  panes  fell  tinkling  to  the  floor,  the  house 
reeled  on  its  foundations,  the  hills  reverberated  to 
the  thunder  of  the  explosion. 

"My  soul  be  on  thy  guard !"  moaned  Mrs. 
Dodd. 

From  the  road  came  a  stentorian  shout, 
"  'Tain't  nothing!  There  ain't  no  one  hurt. 
A  spark  flew  into  the  powder  barrel  and  blew 
it  up  skyhigh.  But  don't  you  care.  Sim  and 
me  is  going  over  to  the  armory  to  get  some 


104*          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

more   to  finish  up   with.     We'll  be  back  soon!" 

Mrs.  Dodd  thrust  a  pair  of  plump  feet  over 
the  side  of  the  bed,  and  Mrs.  Wells,  pale  and  trem- 
bling, was  assisting  her  in  the  perilous  descent 
from  the  four-poster. 

"I  shan't  wait  for  'em!"  declared  Mrs.  Dodd, 
sinking  into  the  huge  Martha  Washington  chair. 
"Samanthy  Wells,  where's  my  stockings?" 

"But  you  can't  go !"  remonstrated  Mrs.  Green, 
as  the  two  women  appeared  before  her.  "John 
and  Sim  have  taken  both  horses — " 

"If  there  ain't  any  'commodation  for  us  to  ride," 
broke  in  Mrs.  Dodd,  stonily,  "we'll  walk!  And 
when  I  can't  walk  any  further,  I'll  go  on  my 
bended  knees!" 

Distressed  and  disturbed,  Mrs.  Green  followed 
her  guests  down  the  path  to  the  gate.  Then  a 
look  of  relief  overspread  her  face  as  she  espied, 
clattering  along  the  highway,  a  belated  milk- 
wagon.  It  was  but  a  moment's  work  to  hail  the 
driver  and  state  the  case,  and  soon  Mrs.  Dodd  was 
ensconced  beside  him  with  little  Mrs.  Wells  perched 
on  a  hassock  at  her  feet,  both  waving  a  gay  good- 
by,  and  calling  back,  "Remember  our  love  to 
John !" 

The  bells  of  Torbolton  had  just  rung  eleven 
o'clock.  Every  one  from  the  vicinity  of  the  Home 
for  Indigent  Females  had  gone  down-town  to  view 
the  military  parade,  and  a  Sabbath  day  calm 
reigned.  Mrs.  Dodd,  her  curly  white  head  re- 
posing on  the  back  of  the  big  Boston  "rocker," 


NIGHT  BEFORE  THE  FOURTH     105 

was  slumbering  peacefully,  while  little  Mrs.  Wells, 
sitting  in  her  small  sewing-chair,  was  meditating. 

Suddenly  the  little  woman  giggled. 

Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  popped  open.  "What's 
that?"  she  queried. 

"It's  me!"  said  Mrs.  Wells,  giggling  again. 
"I've  been  cudgeling  my  brains  about  what  your 
cousin  Luelly  could  have  meant  by  'quiet  as  kit- 
tens.' For  Luelly's  honest  as  the  sunshine,  and 
wouldn't  tell  a  wrong  story  for  a  mint  of  money, 
and  I  calc'late  I've  tracked  it  out  at  last.  Rec- 
olleck  the  po'try  in  the  Fifth  Reader  'bout  the 
cats,  Sereny?" 

Mrs.  Dodd  stared.     "Cats!     What  cats?" 

"The  cats  Luelly  must  have  meant,"  said  little 
Mrs.  Wells,  smiling.  "Kilkenny  cats!  Kilkenny 
kittens!  See,  Sereny?" 


CHAPTER  XH 
THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE 

THE  star  of  Sirius  was  in  the  ascendant,  in 
other  words  dog-days  had  come,  but  on  this  partic- 
ular afternoon  in  late  July  the  fog  that  had  hung 
in  the  air  throughout  the  morning  had  cleared 
away,  and  now  from  a  blue  and  perfect  sky  the 
sun  shone  forth,  sending  arrows  of  light  through 
the  mist-wet  foliage  of  the  great  elms  that 
guarded  the  Home  and  flashing  into  a  myriad 
rainbows  the  spray  of  the  tiny  fountain  that 
played  merrily  on  the  green  lawn  beneath. 

"Hi!  Hi!  Hi,  there!" 

That  was  Betty  Macdonald,  a  white  cap  on  her 
ruddy  locks,  and  snowy  apron  tied  neatly  about 
her  trim  waist,  dashing  down  the  wide  graveled 
path  and  frantically  waving  a  freckled  hand  to- 
ward the  approaching  electric  car. 

Behind  her  trailed  Mrs.  Demeter  Ford,  bashful 
Mrs.  Prendergast,  little  Mrs.  Wells  and  Miss  Sally 
Sloane,  while  in  the  rear  hovered  Miss  Maria 
Timpkins,  shooing  forward  the  company  as  one 
might  shoo  a  flock  of  hens,  and  murmuring,  agi- 
tatedly : 

"We'll  lose  that  car,  sure's  fate!  I  know  we 
shall!"  Then  she  exhorted,  shrilly,  "Call  again, 
Betty.  Call  louder!"  And  thus  adjured,  Betty 

uttered  another  ear-splitting  shriek: 
106 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         107 

"Hi!  Hi!  Hi-i-i-i-i!" 

"Take  your  time!  Take  your  time,  ladies!" 
shouted  the  conductor  from  the  platform. 

"What's  the  place  and  who  are  they?"  queried 
a  tall  young  man  on  the  back  seat. 

"It's  our  Old  Ladies'  Home  and  they're  the  old 
ladies,"  was  the  reply,  and  as  the  motorman 
twisted  the  brake,  the  conductor  sprang  off  and 
greeted  them: 

"Howdy-do!  Howdy-do,  ladies!  Upsy  daisy, 
grandma !"  With  one  effort  of  his  stalwart  arms 
he  lifted  little  Mrs.  Wells  bodily  to  the  running- 
board,  in  a  trice  had  bundled  the  other  women 
into  the  car,  and  climbing  back  and  ringing  the 
bell,  remarked,  genially: 

"A  splendid  lot  of  old  ladies  in  that  Home  and 
I  know  every  one  of  them  by  name  and  fame. 
There's  been  the  top  of  the  town  among  them  be- 
fore now,  and  don't  you  forget  it !  But,"  break- 
ing off,  "I  wonder  where  Mrs.  Dodd  is." 

He  stepped  along  to  the  matron's  side,  demand- 
ing, "Where's  Mrs.  Dodd?  Don't  like  to  see  her 
left  out!" 

"Oh,  she  wasn't  left  out,"  responded  Miss  Timp- 
kins.  "She  just  wouldn't  come!"  And  being  en- 
grossed in  the  distribution  of  nickels  for  her 
charges  that  each  might  enjoy  the  'pleasure  of 
paying  her  own  fare,  she  said  no  more  until  after 
the  conductor  had  returned  from  his  round.  Then 
she  went  on : 

"These  new  electrics  are  so  much  higher  than 


108          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

the  old  horse-cars  that  she  lames  her  knees  fright- 
fully every  time  she  rides  on  them.  Didn't  get 
down  to  her  meals  for  three  days  after  her  last 
trip!  And  when  I  invited  her  this  noon — we're 
all  going  down  to  Ageram  Point  to  the  four 
o'clock  bake — she  said  no,  that  she  knew  when  she 
was  licked !  And  she'd  stay  home  and  keep  house 
with  old  Mrs.  Farwell. 

"But,"  opening  her  capacious  holdall  and  dis- 
playing a  shining  tin  can,  "we're  doing  our  best 
for  her.  I'm  taking  this  to  bring  some  chowder 
in,  and  Mrs.  Wells  has  brown  paper  and  string 
in  her  pockets  for  clam  cakes.  Mrs.  Dodd  loves 
clam  cakes !" 

The  conductor  shook  his  head.  "Good  far's 
it  goes,"  he  admitted.  "But  I  expect  that  the  old 
lady  would  like  a  whole  clam  dinner  and  all  the 
fixin's." 

He  made  his  way  back  to  the  platform,  and 
glaring  at  a  pair  of  prancing  bays  and  a  glit- 
tering victoria  just  passing,  grumbled,  "Pesky 
shame!  Folks  exercising  fat  lazy  horses  before 
empty  carriages,  and  nice  old  ladies  sitting  at 
home  just  pining  to  get  somewhere!" 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  tall  young 
man  with  interest. 

"They're  going  to  Ageram  Point  to  the  four 
o'clock  bake,"  answered  the  conductor,  "but  Mrs. 
Dodd  wouldn't  come,  and  I  tell  you  I  miss  her! 
Miss  Timpkins  thinks  she  knows  why  Mrs.  Dodd 
wouldn't  come,  but  I  know  I  know!  You  see  the 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         109 

old  lady's  pretty  sizable,  and  last  time  she  rode 
with  me  I  had  a  tough  time  getting  her  aboard. 
But  I  did  it,  and  she  was  all  comfortably  settled 
when  a  crittur  settin'  right  where  you're  settin' 
now  winked  and  grinned  at  me  and  said,  'Say,  I 
don't  have  to  go  to  no  circus  to  see  a  baby  ele- 
phant!' I  knew  Mrs.  Dodd  heard  him  for  she 
colored  up  red's  a  beet,  and  I  snapped  him  up, 
'Naw !  And  I  don't  have  to  go  to  no  circus  to  see 
a  jackass!'  Mrs.  Dodd  was  mighty  grateful,  and 
squeezed  my  hand  good  when  I  got  her  out.  Hurt 
feelings  is  a  sight  harder  to  bear  than  hurt  knees," 
then  with  a  softening  of  his  tone,  he  added,  "I 
like  old  ladies.  My  grandma  brought  me  up." 

"So  did  mine!"  averred  the  young  man.  "Well," 
rising  to  his  feet,  "here's  where  I  leave  you." 

Half  an  hour  later,  Mrs.  Serena  Dodd,  rocking 
to  and  fro  beside  the  window  in  her  room,  was 
startled  by  the  appearance  of  Betty  Macdonald 
at  her  door,  announcing: 

"A  visitor  for  you,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Dodd  dropped  the  fan  that  she  had  been 
resignedly  plying.  "A  visitor!"  she  exclaimed. 
"A  visitor!  Why,  'tain't  visiting  day!" 

"Sure  not !"  agreed  Betty,  with  amiability. 
"That's  what  I  told  him.  But  he — " 

"A  him !  A  he !"  repeated  Mrs.  Dodd: 

"Yes,  ma'am!"  said  Betty.  "A  him!  A  he! 
With  gray  eyes  and  a  clean  shaven  chin  with  a 
dimple  in  it.  A  lovely  young  fellow !  And  when 
I  told  him  'twa'n't  visiting  day,  said  he,  *I  can't 


110          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

help  that.  I'm  from  out  of  town  and  must  see 
Mrs.  Dodd.'  " 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Dodd,  glancing  at  the  mir- 
ror, "it's  lucky  I  dressed  up  in  my  black  grena- 
dine even  if  I  did  stay  to  home.  But  my  breast- 
pin's on  crooked.  You  straighten  it  before  you 
let  him  up." 

Meanwhile  Miss  Timpkins  and  her  little  band 
had  sailed  happily  down  the  bay,  landed  at  Age- 
ram  Point,  and  were  trudging  up  the  wharf  to 
where  rosy  rotund  Colonel  Pepperlee,  the  proprie- 
tor of  the  point,  was  roaring : 

"Right  this  way !  Right  this  way !  Best  bake 
on  the  bay !  Only  fifty  cents  a  plate,  I  say !" 

He  halted  in  his  "patter"  as  the  group  of 
women  paused  before  him,  and  muttered,  "Four 
old  ladies  in  bunnits  and  a  middling  young  one  in 
hat  and  feathers.  Now  then,  Pepperlee,  tact, 
tact!" 

He  smiled  ingratiatingly,  his  white  teeth  gleam- 
ing, and  swept  off  his  low-crowned  slouch  hat  in  a 
profound  bow  to  the  matron. 

"Is  this  Miss  Timpkins  and  her  ladies  from  Tor- 
bolton?" 

"Why  ye-es,"  hesitated  Miss  Timpkins,  "but — " 

The  colonel  broke  in  hurriedly. 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  ma'am,"  he  said.  "Your 
bake  won't  be  ready  for  quite  a  spell  yet,  and  my 
advice  is  for  you  all  to  go  right  over  to  the  piazza 
and  sit  tight  and  take  it  easy.  Don't  worry 
about  nothing.  I'll  keep  my  eye  on  you  and  let 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         111 

you  know  when  the  dinner's  served.  No,  no,"  as 
Miss  Timpkins  produced  her  purse,  "we'll  arrange 
that  later." 

And  with  another  bow,  he  restored  his  hat  to 
his  head  and  resumed  his  rhythmic  harangue. 

"My,  but  ain't  he  curchus !"  gurgled  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  trotting  beside  the  matron  toward  the 
spot  indicated  by  Colonel  Pepperlee. 

"He's  courteous  enough,"  assented  Miss  Timp- 
kins, warily,  "but  how  on  earth  did  he  know 
us?" 

Miss  Sally  Sloane  bridled.  "Well,  now,  we  ain't 
quite  so  no-account  as  all  that!"  she  commented. 
"There's  more  know  us  than  we  know,"  compla- 
cently. "We're  public  characters,  Miss  Timp- 
kins !"  And  pluming  themselves  on  this  solution 
of  the  riddle,  the  company  waited  patiently  dur- 
ing the  next  three-quarters  of  an  hour. 

At  last  there  was  wafted  to  their  nostrils  the 
mingled  aroma  of  steaming  rockweed  and  clams, 
and  Mrs.  Wells  sniffed  exultantly. 

"The  bake's  open!"  she  piped.  "I  smell  it! 
Ain't  it  dee-licious?" 

With  one  accord  the  women  started  for  the 
big  dining-hall  with  its  long  bare  trestle-boards 
flanked  on  both  sides  by  rows  of  round  unpainted 
wooden  stools,  but  they  were  intercepted  by  Col- 
onel Pepperlee,  more  smiling,  more  "curchus"  than 
ever. 

"Not  there!  Not  there!  This  way,  if  you 
please!"  And  the  women,  bewildered  but  docile 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

to  the  voice  of  man,  followed  the  colonel  through 
an  adjacent  door. 

They  were  in  a  private  dining-room.  Before 
them  was  a  table  spread  with  a  table-cloth,  a  linen 
table-cloth,  as  was  later  established  by  Miss  Sally 
Sloane's  rubbing  a  fold  of  the  material  betwixt 
thumb  and  forefinger.  With  napkins !  Real 
napkins,  not  squares  of  pink,  green  and  yellow 
tissuepaper  as  in  the  public  hall,  scalloped  along 
the  edges,  it  is  true,  but  nevertheless,  only  tissue 
paper.  Real  chairs,  too !  chairs  with  cane  seats 
and  good  high  backs,  in  one  of  which  Miss  Sally 
promptly  deposited  her  plump  person,  breathing 
gratefully : 

"Praise  be!  I'd  rather  have  half  a  din- 
ner with  a  whole  back  than  a  whole  dinner  with 
none !" 

But  the  others  held  aloof,  little  Mrs.  Wells, 
clutching  at  the  matron's  arm  and  warning  her 
excitedly,  "This  ain't  any  fifty  cent  dinner,  Miss 
Timpkins.  It's  a  seventy-fiver!  My  nephew 
Peter  Rawdon — "  and  Miss  Timpkins  spoke  has- 
tily: 

"It  must  be  a  mistake,  sir !     I  can't  pay — " 

"You  don't  pay  a  penny,"  reassured  the 
colonel.  "Not  a  penny!  It's  a  treat." 

Miss  Timpkins  gasped,  Mrs.  Wells  gasped,  they 
all  gasped. 

But  Mrs.  Wells  was  the  first  to  recover  speech, 
and  exclaimed,  "A  treat !  A  treat !  Do  you 
hear,  ladies?  Colonel  Pepperlee's  treating  us!" 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         113 

and  beaming  joyously  upon  the  colonel,  she  bobbed 
a  courtesy. 

"Thank  you,  Colonel !  Thank  you  kindly !"  she 
declared. 

"Not  at  all !  Not  at  all !"  said  Colonel  Pepper- 
lee,  his  rosy  face  paling  in  consternation. 
"  'Twa'n't  me.  'Twas  an  order  from  the  city. 
A  telephone  order." 

A  chug  and  a  whir  outside  interrupted  the 
colonel;  he  almost  ran  to  the  door.  There  was 
an  anxious  question,  a  satisfactory  reply,  and  the 
next  instant  he  ushered  in  a  tall  young  man,  a 
young  man  with  pleasant  gray  eyes  and  a  clean 
shaven  dimpled  chin,  escorting  an  old  lady,  in  a 
black  grenadine  gown,  a  black  chip  bonnet 
trimmed  with  pink  rosebuds,  and  a  lace  veil  swing- 
ing over  one  shoulder,  a  ponderous  old  lady  with 
curly  white  hair  and  sparkling  black  eyes  and  a 
countenance  aglow  with  happiness  and  heat. 

"Why-ee!  It's  Sereny!"  cried  Mrs.  Wells. 
"Sereny  Dodd,  how  come  you  here?" 

"In  an  automobile!"  affirmed  Mrs.  Dodd,  rap- 
turously. "In  an  automobile !  A  lovely  little  low 
one  !  I  slid  into  it  slick's  a  whistle !  'Twas  him," 
nodding  toward  her  companion,  "brought  me.  We 
flew  like  old  Nick  was  chasing  us,  and  I  wa'n't 
scared  a  mite." 

She  surveyed  the  table  joyously.  "My  suzzy 
me !  Ain't  it  elegant  ?  Cowcumbers  and  cracked 
ice,  Bermudy  onions  and  celery,  plum  brown  bread 
and  white  biscuit !  Ah-h-h-h !"  Mrs.  Dodd  would 


114. 

have  smacked  her  lips  had  it  been  qmte  ladylike. 

"And  it's  all  my  party !  He  said  so.  Set  you 
down,  ladies,  and  make  yourselves  to  home,"  hos- 
pitably. "Leastwise,"  with  a  glance  at  Miss  Sally 
Sloane,  "those  of  you  as  ain't  done  it  already ! 
Samanthy  Wells,  you  quickstep  it  over  here. 
Miss  Timpkins,  you  look  out  for  Mrs.  Prender- 
gast.  She's  so  bashful  she  won't  get  a  mouthful 
'less  you  tend  to  her.  Now,  now,  now!"  severely, 
perceiving  that  the  matron  was  about  to  speak. 
"This  ain't  any  time  for  probing  into  things.  I 
want  my  clam  dinner!  Old  Mrs.  Farwell's  all 
right,"  reassuringly,  "sleeping  like  a  dormouse, 
and  Betty  and  Nora  is  going  to  set  with  her,  one 
or  the  other,  every  minute  till  we  all  get  back." 

Then  the  waiters  swarmed  in,  and  it  was  hot 
clams  here  and  hot  clams  there  and  more  hot 
clams.  There  was  a  clatter  of  dishes  and  hubbub 
of  tongues,  and  presently  Mrs.  Dodd's  astonished 
accents  soared  high  above  the  din,  as  she  gazed 
amazed  and  dismayed  at  the  young  man  beside 
her: 

"You  poor  lamb !  Where  were  you  raised  ? 
Massy  sakes !  You  don't  eat  clams  with  a  fork ! 
Just  you  watch  me.  You  open  the  shell,  so.  You 
pull  out  the  clam,  so.  You  dip  it  into  melted  but- 
ter, so.  And  you  bite  it  off,  so.  Now  you  try." 

And  beneath  the  sympathetic  contemplation  of 
six  pairs  of  eyes,  her  pupil  endeavored  to  show 
that  he  had  acquired  the  art. 

There  were  chowder  and  lobsters  and  clam  frit- 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         115 

ters  and  broiled  blue-fish  and  fried  tautog,  green 
corn,  watermelon,  Indian  pudding  and  whipped 
cream,  pineapple  sherbet  and  little  frosted  cakes. 

"To  think,  oh,  to  think,"  sighed  Miss  Sally 
Sloane,  "of  having  money  enough  to  pay  for  a 
feast  like  this!" 

She  carefully  polished  her  sherbet  saucer  with 
a  scrap  of  one  of  the  little  frosted  cakes  of  which 
she  had  eaten  a  greater  number  than  she  would 
have  wished  to  have  counted.  Then  peering  over 
her  glasses  at  the  long  expanse  of  table,  she 
whispered  to  Mrs.  Demeter  Ford  a  triumphant, 
"We've  et  every  speck  of  the  sherbet,  but,"  dis- 
appointedly, "there's  a  round  dozen  of  them  dar- 
ling cakes  left  yet !" 

Mrs.  Dodd,  too,  had  been  eying  the  table.  "Sa- 
manthy  Wells !"  she  cried.  "Your  ma  and  mine 
taught  us  always  to  remember  the  absent.  Where's 
that  brown  paper  and  string  you  were  so  brash 
about?" 

The  boom  of  the  sunset  gun  floated  over  the 
water.  Chairs  scraped  back  and  all  trooped  out 
to  the  veranda  to  find  beside  the  little  runabout 
that  had  whisked  Mrs.  Dodd  and  the  unknown 
down  from  the  city,  Colonel  Pepperlee's  own  two- 
seated  car  and  the  colonel  himself  to  drive  it. 
Yes,  indeed !  It  was  a  snug  fit,  but  would  not  you 
be  willing  to  be  packed  in  like  a  sardine  if  you 
had  never  had  an  automobile  ride  in  your  life  be- 
fore and  never  expected  to  again? 

The    horns    tooted    gloriously,    the   cars    sped 


116          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

along  the  boulevard,  dived  through  the  east  en- 
trance to  the  park,  whirled  about  the  lakes,  and 
popping  out  of  the  west  entrance,  raced  down  the 
avenue,  and  crossing  the  lower  bridge  puffed  up 
Quinton  Hill  to  where  Betty  Macdonald  was  wait- 
ing at  the  gate.  As  the  maid  put  up  her  hand  to 
assist  Mrs.  Dodd  to  alight,  the  old  lady  thrust 
into  it  a  brown  paper  parcel  tied  about  with  hem- 
pen string  and  bulging  richly  with  a  round  dozen 
of  frosted  cakes.  "For  old  Mrs.  Farwell  and  you 
and  Nora!"  chuckled  Mrs.  Dodd. 

A  moment  later  she  was  toiling  up  the  path 
upon  Betty's  supporting  arm,  while  Miss  Timp- 
kins,  balancing  herself,  one  foot  on  sea  and  one 
on  land,  that  is  to  say,  one  foot  on  the  motor  car 
step  and  the  other  on  the  concrete,  and  staring 
after  the  other  car  that  had  just  disappeared 
about  the  corner,  ejaculated,  in  dismay: 

"Why,  he's  gone!  Mrs.  Dodd,  Mrs.  Dodd, 
who  is  he?'* 

But  panting  Mrs.  Dodd  had  no  breath  with 
which  to  answer,  and  it  was  not  until  seated  in  her 
rocking  chair,  her  bonnet  and  veil  off,  a  hassock 
beneath  her  feet,  and  a  glass  of  good  cold  water 
disposed  of,  that  she  rejoined,  composedly: 

"Don't  know.     Never  asked  him." 

"Don't  know !  You  never  asked  him !"  The 
matron  stood  aghast.  "You  went  without  even 
knowing  his  name!" 

"Yes,  I  did!"  retorted  Mrs.  Dodd.  "He  came 
here  and  said  he'd  seen  you  on  the  trolley  and  had 


THE  FOUR  O'CLOCK  BAKE         117 

come  to  take  me  to  the  bake.  That  was  recom- 
mend enough  for  me,  and  I  went.  O  me !  O  my !" 
ecstatically,  "didn't  we  have  a  bee-yutiful  time? 
He  was  a  turrible  nice  young  fellow,  but  I  couldn't 
tell  you  who  he  was  any  more'n  the  man  in  the 
moon." 


CHAPTER  XIII 
THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAKES 

IT  was  the  middle  of  August,  and  Mrs.  Dodd 
was  affirming,  lugubriously,  "Most  three  weeks 
since  any  thing's  happened  in  this  Home.  What 
with  all  the  board  out  of  town  and  my  niece  Lyddy 
from  over  to  Holt  and  your- nephew  Peter  Raw- 
don,  likewise,  I  don't  'spect  there's  any  chance  of 
it  neither."  She  groaned  aloud. 

A  moment  later  there  rattled  up  the  avenue 
a  red  delivery  wagon;  it  halted  before  the  Home, 
the  driver  raced  up  the  steps,  the  bell  rang  im- 
peratively, and  little  Mrs.  Wells,  peeping  from  the 
window,  announced,  "Great  Northern  'Spress, 
Sereny !" 

Some  one  was  mounting  the  stairs.  "Mebbe, 
oh,  mebbe — "  whispered  Mrs.  Wells.  And  almost 
immediately,  Betty  Macdonald  was  standing  at 
the  threshold,  proclaiming: 

"A  package  for  you,  Mrs.  Dodd,  from  Miss 
Lydia  Barren,  Hillcrest,  New  Hampshire — " 

"That's  where  my  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to 
Holt's  visiting,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Dodd. 

"And  one  for  you,  Mrs.  Wells,  from  Mr.  Peter 
Rawdon,  Mountain  View,  Vermont." 

"My  nephew  Peter  likes  Vermont  best,"  chirped 

Mrs.  Wells,  proudly. 

118 


THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAKES   119 

Betty  lingered.  "Want  me  to  undo  'em?"  she 
volunteered. 

"No,  thank  you,  Betty,"  chorused  the  two 
women  with  dignity,  but  an  instant  after  the  with- 
drawal of  the  maid,  scissors  were  produced,  there 
was  swift  cutting  of  cords,  unwrapping  of  paper 
and  lifting  of  box-covers,  followed  by  rapturous 
"Ohs  !"  and  "Ahs  !" 

"If  there's  one  thing  more'n  another  topside 
this  green  airth  that  I  dote  on,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Dodd,  "it's  six  cunning  little  heart-shaped  cakes 
of  maple  sugar  like  these,  with  butternut  meats 
strewed  thick  through  'em !" 

And  little  Mrs.  Wells  echoed,  happily: 

"Me,  too,  Sereny !  Only  my  six  are  round, 
with  scalloped  aidges  and  the  butternut  meats  is 
sticking  out  all  over  like  porkypine  quills !"  She 
pinched  off  a  scallop,  and  popping  it  into  her 
mouth,  murmured  ecstatically,  "M-m-m!  M-m-m! 
M-m-m !"  and  again  "M-m-m  !" 

And  Mrs.  Dodd,  across  the  lightstand,  pinched 
off  the  point  from  one  of  the  heart-shaped  cakes, 
popped  it  into  her  mouth,  and  in  her  turn,  mur- 
mured : 

"M-m-m !  M-m-m !  M-m-m !"  and  again, 
"M-m-m!" 

Joyously  and  in  unison  the  two  women  munched, 
until  at  last  Mrs.  Dodd,  surveying  the  remainder 
of  the  cakes,  made  a  bold  proposition.  "Saman- 
thy,"  said  she,  "s'pose  you  and  me  hide  the  rest 
of  'em!  Tuck  'em  away  somewhere  out  of  sight, 


120          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

and  eat  'em  ourselves  when  we  get  good  and 
ready." 

Little  Mrs.  Wells  stared,  her  eyes  grew  rounder 
and  bigger  and  bluer,  her  cheeks  flushed. 
"Why-ee,  Sereny!"  she  protested.  "Don't  that 
sound  turrible — turrible — "  she  paused,  confused, 
"so  to  sa-ay — " 

"Piggy?"  supplemented  Mrs.  Dodd,  unabashed. 
"Yes,  piggy!  Well,  let's  be  piggy  for  oncet  in 
our  lives  and  enj'y  the  experience." 

But  her  roommate,  unconvinced,  objected. 
"No,  no,  Sereny!  That  won't  ever  do!"  Then 
her  face  brightened,  her  tone  changed,  she  laughed 
aloud.  "P'raps  you're  right,  Sereny!"  She 
opened  the  upper  drawer  of  her  bureau.  "I  can 
stow  mine  in  here,  and  you  can  poke  yours  under- 
neath the  lightstand!  'Twill  be  easy  for  you  to 
get  at !"  She  was  about  to  seat  herself,  when 
Mrs.  Dodd  remarked: 

"So  long's  you're  up,  I  wonder  if  you'd  mind 
going  downstairs  and  hinting  to  Betty  Macdonald 
that  it  wouldn't  be  no  harm  if  next  week  she 
didn't  iron  my  capstrings  quite  as  crooked  as  a 
ram's  horns?" 

"Not  a  mite,"  responded  Mrs.  Wells,  amiably, 
"and  whilst  I'm  down,  I'll  run  out  and  get  a 
breath  of  fresh  air." 

"So  do!"  urged  Mrs.  Dodd.  "And  take  your 
time."  She  lunged  forward  in  the  big  Boston 
"rocker,"  gaining  her  feet  with  the  sudden  impe- 
tus. "I'll  visit  a  spell  with  old  Mrs.  Farwell." 


THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAKES        121 

She  ambled  from  the  room  and  presently  Mrs. 
Wells,  too,  was  gone. 

It  was  the  next  morning,  breakfast  was  over, 
and  Mrs.  Dodd,  comfortably  ensconced  in  her 
chair  beside  the  window,  was  placidly  contemplat- 
ing the  little  woman  opposite.  "Time  for  another 
maple-sugar  cake,  ain't  it,  Samanthy?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,  indeedy!"  replied  Mrs.  Wells.  "But 
'tain't  worth  while  hauling  out  both  boxes,  Sereny. 
Besides  I've  got  my  mouth  all  made  up  for  one  of 
them  dear  little  cunning  hearts  of  yourn !" 

"Same  here!"  chuckled  Mrs.  Dodd,  "only  I'm 
honing  for  one  of  them  rounds  with  scalloped 
aidges.  You  get  'em  right  out." 

Mrs.  Wells  rose  reluctantly,  moved  slowly  to 
the  bureau,  drew  out  the  upper  drawer,  peered 
within,  fumbled  vaguely  about,  then  turned  and 
gazed  mournfully  at  her  companion. 

Mrs.  Dodd's  benignant  expression  faded  into 
one  of  anxiety.  "What — " 

"I  s'pose,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wells,  desperately, 
"I  s'pose  I  might  as  well  own  up  first  as  last !  I 
ain't  got  one  speck  of  maple  sugar  to  my  name ! 
Not  a  crumb !  Neither  scallops  nor  middles ! 
Not  anything!" 

"None  left !"  cried  Mrs.  Dodd,  astounded. 
"None  left,  Samanthy !" 

"  'Tain't  any  use  a-carrying  on !"  avowed  Mrs. 
Wells,  very  pale,  but  very  determined.  "I  gave 
'em  away !  That's  what !" 

"But  you  said — " 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"You  said,"  corrected  Mrs.  Wells,  "s'pose  we 
hid  'em  and  et  'em  ourselves  when  we  got  good 
and  ready !  And  it  was  a  fine  scheme  for  them  as 
could,  but  I  couldn't.  Massy  sakes,  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  was  one-half  hour  by  the  clock  before  I'd 
begun  distributing.  First  off  I  salved  over  your 
message  to  Betty  Macdonald  by  presenting  her 
with  one  of  the  rounds.  She  hadn't  seen  any  since 
she  came  out  from  Pictou  last  spring." 

Mrs.  Dodd  grasped  her  pudgy  left  thumb  with 
her  pudgy  left  hand.  "One !"  she  said,  resignedly. 

"And  Nora  O'Hara  was  watching  just  as  inter- 
terested.  Poor  girl,  she  hadn't  even  ever  heard 
of  such  a  thing !  They  don't  grow  neither  maple 
sugar  nor  butternuts  in  Roscommon." 

"Two  is  Nora."  Mrs.  Dodd  laid  a  sturdy  fore- 
finger beside  her  thumb. 

"And  when  I  clipped  it  out  into  the  yard  after 
that  breath  of  fresh  air  I  mentioned  to  you,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Wells,  "I  met  Sandy  McAllister 
mowing  the  grass,  and  he  touched  his  cap  so  re- 
spectful and  said,  'How  do,  Mrs.  Wells?  How's 
Mrs.  Dodd  to-day?' '  She  paused  a  moment  and 
added  dreamily,  "Did  you  ever  mark,  Sereny,  how 
we  set  store  by  folks  who  don't  ever  forget  our 
names?  And  so — " 

Mrs.  Dodd  nodded.  "Thimble  finger,  three," 
she  stated. 

"And  as  I  traveled  down  toward  the  gate,  if 
there  scooting  along  the  avenue,  wa'n't  the  elec- 
tric car  with  the  one  I  call  my  conductor  on  it,  he 


THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAEES        123 

that  whisks  me  aboard  zif  I  was  a  bag  of  live  geese 
feathers,  and  I  hailed  him  to  oncet.  He  jumped 
off,  and  said  I,  'Love  maple  sugar?'  and  said  he, 
'Yes,  ma'am!'  and  said  I,  'Here's  some!'  and  a 
tickleder  man  you  never  see.  His  teeth  was  in  it 
before  he'd  pulled  the  car  bell,  and  he  and  the 
motorman — I  sent  him  my  last  cake — waved  all 
the  way  down  the  hill  till  I  was  all  a-trimble,  I 
was  that  fearful  they'd  skip  the  track." 

"Ring  finger,  four;  little  finger,  five,"  counted 
Mrs.  Dodd.  Her  hands  dropped  limply  into  her 
lap,  while  Mrs.  Wells,  sinking  into  her  low  wicker 
chair,  went  on: 

"  'Course  I  wouldn't  been  quite  so  free  passing 
'em  out  if  I  hadn't  known  you  had  plenty  and  to 
spare.  You  see  just  how  'twas.  I  depended  on 
you,  Sereny." 

Mrs.  Dodd  fixed  aggrieved  black  eyes  upon  the 
little  woman.  "Then,  Samanthy  Wells,"  she 
spoke  with  decision,  "all  I've  got  to  say  is  that 
you've  depended  on  a  broken  reed!  And  I  s'pose 
I  might's  well  own  up  first  's  last.  I  ain't  got 
a  cake  of  maple  sugar  left  to  my  name!  Not  a 
single  identical  one.  Not  ary  crumb.  I  gave 
mine  away.  /  couldn't  help  it.  You  ain't  the 
only  crittur  with  that  kind  of  a  natur'.  Why, 
I'm  pretty  positive  that  'twa'n't  a  half  .of  half  an 
hour  before  Sereny  Dodd  had  begun  distributing. 
Though  to  be  up  and  down  honest,"  she  confessed, 
candidly,  "  'twa'n't  my  intention  to  do  as  I  did. 
Leastwise  not  so  slambang  quick.  But  the 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

tongue,  Samanthy,"  she  wagged  her  head  dole- 
fully, "the  tongue!  Fact  is,  I  bragged.  I 
bragged  to  old  Mrs.  Farwell  what  splendid  maple 
sugar  they  manufactured  up  in  the  Granite 
State,  and  she  answered  right  up  in  her  soft  way 
that  Maine  maple  sugar  was  better,  Maine  butter- 
nut meats  was  better,  and  Maine's  motto  was  'I 
lead.'  She  was  sot  as  sot  about  it.  And  I  stiv- 
ered  straight  back  and  got  the  maple  sugar  cakes 
to  prove  it  wa'n't  so." 

"Did  you  prove  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Wells,  eagerly. 

"No,  I  didn't !  She  et  a  cake,  and  she  smacked 
her  lips,  and  said  right  over  again,  gentle's  a 
turtle-dove,  Maine  maple  sugar  was  better,  Maine 
butternuts  meats  was  better,  and  State  o'  Maine 
was  still  a-leading.  And  you  can't  argy  only  just 
so  much  with  a  lady  ninety-two  last  birthday. 
And  square  in  the  midst  of  it,  in  marched  Sally 
Sloane,  and  naterally  I  gave  her  a  cake.  And 
after  her  Mrs.  Ford,  and  I  gave  her  another. 
They  relished  'em  something  amazing.  And  by 
that  time  I'd  sort  of  got  my  hand  in,  and  I  hunted 
up  Mrs.  Prendergast.  She's  so  bashful  she 
couldn't  seem  to  sense  first  off  that  the  maple 
sugar  heart  was  for  her,  but  soon's  she  did,  she 
was  perfect  joy.  Why,  when  she  was  a  little  tot 
in  pantalets  and  low-necked,  short-sleeved  frocks 
her  pa  had  a  maple  sugar  orchard,  and  outside 
her  chamber  window  where  she  could  pick  and  eat 
any  hour  of  the  day  or  night,  climb  out  on  'em 
too,  if  she  took  the  notion,  was  much  as  a  dozen 


THE  MAPLE  SUGAR  CAKES        125 

great  hahnsome  butternut  trees.  Then  I  scud, 
and  there  out  in  the  gallery  was  Miss  Timpkins, 
Miss  Maria  Timpkins,  the  matron  of  this  Home, 
Samanthy !  She  that's  been  a  mother,  a  more'n 
mother  to  us  ladies  !" 

"O  me!  O  my!"  lamented  little  Mrs.  Wells. 
"What  did  you  do?" 

"Do!  Do!  Why,  I  gave  her  a  maple  sugar 
cake!  That's  what  I  done!  Punted  up  to  her 
like  I  was  a  drum-major,  and  presented  her  with 
the  very  last  one  of  them  cunning  little  maple 
sugar  hearts  strewed  thick  all  through  with  but- 
ternut meats  zif  I'd  meant  to  from  the  beginning, 
and  had  four  thousand  more  behind  'em.  .Yes, 
sir-ree,  bob !" 

She  beamed  at  little  Mrs.  Wells,  who  sighed 
blissfully.  "Well,  that's  all  right.  My,  I 
wouldn't  had  Miss  Timpkins  slighted  for — "  she 
glanced  through  the  window  toward  the  river  bank 
— "for  Roger  Williams's  Rock  with  Roger  himself 
sculped  out  on  it,  picket  fence  and  all  thrown  in !" 
She  extracted  from  the  upper  bureau  drawer  the 
box  that  had  held  the  maple  sugar  rounds  with 
scalloped  edges  and  declared,  "Empty  as  a  last 
year's  bird's  nest!"  And  Mrs.  Dodd,  producing 
from  beneath  the  lightstand  a  similar  box, 
amended : 

"Empty  as  two  last  year's  bird's  nests,  Saman- 
thy !  Howsomever,"  cheerily,  "we've  had  lots  of 
fun  out  of  'em." 

"And  now,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Wells,  "we  must 


126          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

mind  our  manners.  Last  night  Nora  O'Hara  ex- 
changed that  two-cent  postage  stamp  I've  been 
cherishing  for  time  of  need  for  two  one-centers 
at  the  'pothecary's,  and  I'll  donate  you  one. 
And  Betty  fetched  me  two  picture  postal  cards 
that  come  with  the  last  baking  powder  tins, 
'Pancake  Island  Viewed  from  the  Railroad 
Bridge,'  and  'The  Dumplings  at  High  Tide.' 
Take  your  ch'ice,  Sereny."  She  placed  the  cards 
before  her  roommate  and  directed,  "You  write, 
'Thank  you,  ma'am,'  and  I'll  write,  'Thank  you, 
sir,'  and  we'll  both  write,  'They  tasted  dee-li- 
cious !'  " 


CHAPTER  XIV 
MRS.  DODD'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE 

"SEVENS!  That's  miles  too  big!"  averred  Mrs. 
Dodd,  as  she  eyed  disconsolately  the  pair  of  Con- 
gress gaiters  that  lay  in  her  lap.  "Six  and  a 
half  is  my  size." 

"If  you'd  only  try  them  on !"  urged  Miss  Timp- 
kins,  but  Mrs.  Dodd  shook  her  head. 

"  'Tain't  no  manner  of  use,"  she  stated,  firmly. 

The  matron  looked  around  helplessly.  "I 
don't  see  how  I  can  do  one  thing  to-day."  Her 
eyes  fell  on  little  Mrs.  Wells  and  a  new  idea  pre- 
sented itself.  "I  wonder,"  she  addressed  the  lit- 
tle woman,  "if  you  wouldn't  like  to  ride  downtown 
with  Betty  on  the  car — it's  her  afternoon  out — 
and  exchange  the  shoes  at  the  Hub  store.  Betty'd 
go  in  with  you  and  I'd  arrange  the  rest  by  tele- 
phone. You  could  come  home  alone?"  tenta- 
tively. And  Mrs.  Wells  almost  danced  for  joy 
as  she  agreed : 

"Yes,  indeedy,  ma'am !" 

And  thus  it  was  on  this  pleasant  day  in  early 
September  that  Mrs.  Wells,  with  the  number  six 
and  a  half  Congress  gaiters  under  her  arm,  was 
pacing  homeward  along  Abbey  Street,  the  main 
thoroughfare  of  the  town,  communing  with  her- 
self: 

127 


128          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"That  last  ten-cent  piece  Sereny's  niece  Lyddy 
from  over  to  Holt  give  her,"  she  murmured, 
"burned  in  her  pocket  like  a  living  fire-coal;  she 
said  so!  And  she  just  had  to  get  rid  of  it,  she 
said  so!  And  'The  laborer's  worthy  of  his  hire,' 
she  said  that,  too !" 

A  moment  later  Mrs.  Wells  halted  beneath  a 
gilded  mortar  and  pestle,  and  entering  the  drug 
store,  stood  before  its  marble  counter,  and  or- 
dered : 

"Ros'b'ry  soda  with  plenty  of  sirup  and  plenty 
of  cream!"  As  the  pink  and  foaming  compound 
was  pushed  toward  her,  she  volunteered,  "I  always 
hanker  after  one  of  them  new-fangled  mixtures," 
she  nodded  in  the  direction  of  the  list  upon  the 
wall,  "but  it's  have  to  hanker!  For  s'posen,  just 
s'posen  I  didn't  like  it  and  couldn't  drink  it,  and 
had  to  own  up  to  Sereny  Dodd — I'm  on  an  arrant 
for  her  and  it's  her  treat — that  I'd  spent  her  sub- 
stance for  naught!  My,  but  she'd  quote,  'Wilful 
waste  makes  woeful  want,'  till  the  chick-a-biddies 
went  to  bed  and  I'd  want  to  go,  too !" 

Presently  she  set  down  the  glass  and  prof- 
fering a  dime,  bade,  "You  spare  just  as  much 
candy  as  you  can  for  the  other  five  cents.  Se- 
reny, she  ain't  expecting  it,  but  I  wouldn't  be 
mean  enough  to  gobble  down  the  whole  ten  cents' 
worth,  and  moreover,  my  ma  always  taught  me 
that  sharing  your  goodies  made  them  twice  as 
relishing !" 

As  the  smiling  white- jacketed  clerk  handed  out 


MRS.  DODD'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE      129 

the  tiny  package  of  candy,  he  gave  with  it  two 
slips  of  yellow  cardboard,  at  the  same  time  dis- 
pensing some  information  that  caused  Mrs. 
Wells's  countenance  to  beam  radiantly.  And 
it  was  with  a  light  heart  that  she  trod  the  steep 
ascent  of  Quinton  Hill  and  displayed  her  spoils 
to  Mrs.  Dodd,  who,  glancing  at  the  number  on 
the  soles  of  the  shoes,  declared  they  would  fit  to 
a  T,  pounced  with  delight  upon  the  candy,  and 
scrutinizing  the  yellow  tickets  demanded,  "What's 
them?" 

"Cowpens!"  announced  Mrs.  Wells,  blithely. 
"Cowpens !  And  mebbe  they'll  fetch  me  a  eight- 
hundred-dollar  automobile!  Ah-h!"  she  .clucked 
her  tongue  gleefully. 

"O  my  sakes!"  Ponderous  Mrs.  Dodd  rocked 
violently  to  and  fro,  preparatory  to  rising. 
"Where  is  it?  Out  in  front?" 

Mrs.  Wells  giggled. 

"Mercy  me,  Sereny,  you're  so  swift!  I  ain't 
so  to  say  got  my  two  fists  on  it  yet,  but  there's  a 
good  hope!" 

Mrs.  Dodd  settled  back.  "I  don't  know  what 
you're  driving  at,  Samanthy  Wells,  no  more'n 
Roger  Williams's  Rock  out  yonder!"  she  averred, 
petulantly. 

"An  automobile !"  enunciated  Mrs.  Wells.  "An 
automobile !  Next  week  the  'pothecary  shop  pre- 
sents an  automobile  to  its  customers,  and  I'm 
one — the  clerk  said  so — and  the  lucky  number 
wins  it." 


130          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

She  flourished  the  coupons. 

"And  the  clerk,  he  said,  too,  'Some  one's  got 
to  win  it,  and  why  not  you,  ma'am?'  And  I  guess, 
Sereny  Dodd,  that  you'll  allow  a  clerk  right  on 
the  spot  ought  to  know  a  little  bit!  And  when 
it  comes,"  went  on  Mrs.  Wells,  "we'll  lend  it  to 
some  nice  man  for  its  keep,  only  he'll  have  to  take 
you  out  riding  every  single  pleasant  day !" 

But  Mrs.  Dodd  interrupted,  black  eyes  flash- 
ing, "Guess  he'll  take  you,  too,  Samanthy  Wells, 
or  Sereny  Dodd'll  know  the  why  and  where- 
fore !" 

"Don't  get  all  het  up!"  pacified  Mrs.  Wells, 
patting  her  roommate's  shoulder.  "  'Twill  hold 
four !  O  me !  O  my !  I  can  scarcely  wait  till  the 
day  dawns !" 

The  following  week  was  long,  long!  Mrs. 
Wells  tugged  upstairs  the  encyclopedia  lettered 
"A  to  Bau,"  and  finding  beside  "Automobile"  a 
note,  "See  Motor-car,"  remarked,  philosophically, 
"If  at  first  you  don't  succeed,  try,  try  again!" 
bore  the  volume  back  to  the  bookcase  in  the  lower 
hall,  and  brought  up  the  one  lettered  "Mac  to 
Nil." 

Miss  Sally  Sloane,  whose  tongue  by  right  of 
heredity  should  have  had  the  "real  French  twist," 
— for  did  not  her  forebears  hail  from  the  "Jar- 
seys?" — was  consulted  anxiously  as  to  the  correct 
pronunciation  of  chauffeur,  garage  and  tonneau ; 
but  for  the  most  part  the  roommates  watched  in 
fascination  the  many  automobiles  that  sped  past 


MRS.  DODD'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE      131 

on  their  way  to  the  country  club-houses  beyond 
the  borders  of  the  town. 

At  last,  the  fateful  day  arrived,  and  when  at 
seven  o'clock  Betty  Macdonald,  dusting  the  par- 
lors, heard  the  thud  of  The  Rising  Sim,  as  the 
carrier  hurled  it  against  the  front  door  of  the 
Home,  she  at  once  captured  it,  and  bustled  up  to 
the  room  of  Mrs.  Dodd  and  Mrs.  Wells,  pro- 
claiming : 

"15,484  gets  it!" 

"That's  it,  that's  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Dodd,  sus- 
pending the  task  of  tying  her  apron-strings, 
while  little  Mrs.  Wells,  like  "My  Son  John,  with 
one  shoe  off  and  one  shoe  on,"  shuffled  across  the 
floor,  and  with  tremulous  hands  pulled  forth 
the  bureau  drawer  and  extracted  therefrom  the 
slips  of  yellow  pasteboard. 

"O  deary  me!"  she  wailed.  "O  deary,  deary 
me !  If  I'd  only  been  the  one  after  myself !" 

Betty  seized  the  tickets.  "15,482  and  15,483. 
It's  a  shame,  a  bom'nable  shame !"  she  sympa- 
thized. 

Mrs.  Dodd  groaned  dismally,  but  Mrs.  Wells, 
after  the  first  shock  of  the  news,  and  with  fine 
fervor,  observed: 

"It  might  have  been  worse,  Sereny!  Things 
always  might  have  been  worse!  S'posen,  just 
s'posen,  we'd  drawed  that  automobile,  and  first 
trip  out  had  broke  our  limb!  Oh,  I  tell  you, 
Sereny  Dodd,  there's  always  Balm  in  Gilead  for 
them  as  seeks  it!" 


132          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

But  Mrs.  Dodd  was  not  to  be  comforted.  "I 
don't  want  no  Balm  in  Gilead,  Samanthy  Wells !" 
she  sobbed.  "I  want  a  ride!" 

It  was  during  the  last  five  minutes  at  the  next 
board  meeting  that  Miss  Timpkins,  to  whom 
Betty  had  confided  the  blasting  of  the  hopes  cher- 
ished by  the  roommates,  was  relating  the  story. 

"They  were  so  disappointed,"  she  commented, 
"particularly  Mrs.  Dodd.  You  see,  since  she  has 
grown  so  stout,  she  has  very  few  outings.  Mr. 
Green,  a  sort  of  sixteenth  cousin  from  Taunton, 
drives  her  out  occasionally,  but  it's  an  old-fash- 
ioned carryall,  high,  and  narrow  between  the  seats, 
and  it  takes  him  and  Nora  and  Betty  a  full  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  to  get  her  in  and  more  to  get  her 
out.  And  as  for  the  electrics,"  the  matron  shook 
her  head  solemnly,  "though  we  carry  out  a  chair 
and  a  footstool  and  the  conductors  are  most  con- 
siderate and  lend  a  helping  hand,  there  is  always 
some  person  who  thinks  it  amusing  to  jest  at  the 
old  lady's  expense,  and  of  course  that  spoils  it 
entirely!  There  was  that  young  man  that  took 
her  to  the  clam-bake  in  his  motor  car,  but  that," 
Miss  Timpkins  hesitated  a  moment  and  gazed 
down  at  a  pencil  that  she  twirled  mechanically  in 
her  fingers,  "was  in  a  way  almost  unfortunate  for 
it  gave  her  a  taste  of  a  pleasure  that  I  suppose  she 
is  not  likely  to  partake  of  again !" 

For  a  moment  all  was  very  still  in  the  Home 
office,  save  for  the  chug-chug  and  whir-whir  of 
the  big  red  touring-car  and  the  green  steamer 


MRS.  DODD'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE      133 

waiting  outside.  Then  with  one  impulse  the  pres- 
ident and  vice-president  spoke.  "I — •"  began 
Mrs.  Waldron.  "I — "  began  Mrs.  Frater;  but 
their  voices  were  drowned  in  the  unearthly  din 
that  suddenly  filled  the  autumn  air. 

"Honk  !  Honk !"  boomed  the  big  red  touring- 
car.  "Toot!  Toot!"  shrilled  the  green  steamer 
as  they  answered  in  unison  the  shrieking  chal- 
lenge of  the  siren  whistle  on  the  dark  blue  car 
just  topping  Quinton  Hill,  and  Mrs.  Kipp,  the 
secretary  of  the  board,  started  up,  exclaiming: 

"That's  my  husband!  He's  hungry  for  his 
lunch  when  he  calls  like  that !  I  must  be  going, 
but  to-morrow — " 

And  as  Miss  Timpkins  grasped  the  import  of 
Mrs.  Kipp's  words,  she  smiled,  and  the  smile 
deepened  when,  a  second  later,  Mrs.  Waldron  and 
Mrs.  Frater  completed  their  sentences  in  her  re- 
ceptive ear. 

"To-morrow"  had  come,  a  crisp,  cool  day,  one  of 
those  belonging  to  the  oasis  of  days  that  usually 
comes  in  between  the  last  hot  wave  in  August  and 
the  no  less  hot  wave  that,  according  to  Torbolton 
teachers  and  their  pupils,  invariably  accompanies 
the  opening  week  of  the  autumn  term  of  the  Tor- 
bolton schools.  A  sweet  salt  southerly  breeze 
whipped  the  surface  of  the  bay  into  tiny  dancing 
whitecaps  and  gently  fanned  the  cheeks  of  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  three  automobiles  flying  across 
the  long  bridge  toward  the  park. 

Mrs.  Dodd,  tucked  cozily  in  the  corner  of  the 


134          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

tonneau  of  the  foremost,  reflected,  "Boldwood  al- 
ways said,  'Anticipation  beats  realization.'  "  She 
closed  her  eyes,  and  before  her  mental  vision  raced 
a  mad  procession  of  motor-cars,  red,  green  and 
blue!  And  again  red,  green  and  blue!  "Once  a 
week  the  year  round!  That's  the  promise,"  she 
mused. 

She  opened  her  eyes.  Here  she  actually  was, 
sitting  in  the  big  red  touring  car,  the  green 
steamer  pressing  close  behind,  and  last  of  all,  the 
dark  blue  car. 

She  drew  a  sigh  of  contentment.  "Well,  I 
guess  I'll  never  be  real  positive,  for  I've  got  'em 
both."  Then  she  spoke  aloud  in  ecstasy,  "O  Sa- 
manthy  Wells,  a  thankful  woman  be  I  this  day !" 

"Me  too !"  chirped  little  Mrs.  Wells,  nestled 
between  Mrs.  Dodd  and  Mrs.  Ford,  and  patting 
the  former's  knee  affectionately,  she  went  on: 

"And  it's  all  your  doing,  Sereny.  When  you 
wa'n't  a  selfish  pig  and  didn't  keep  that  last 
ten-cent  piece  your  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to 
Holt  give  you  till  it  burnt  a  hole  clean  through 
your  pocket  and  got  lost  and  did  no  good  to  no 
one,  besides  your  having  to  have  the  pocket 
patched  to  boot,  but  treated  Samanthy  Wells  to 
a  glass  of  ros'b'ry  soda,  that's  when  you  cast 
bread  upon  the  waters!  And  now  after  many 
days,  not  so  very  many  after  all  though, — "  she 
counted  on  her  small  black  cotton-gloved  fingers 
— "just  nine, —  it  has  returned  to  you,  sweet  as 
honey  in  the  comb,  and  enough,- — "  Mrs.  Wells 


MRS.  DODO'S  TEN-CENT  PIECE      135 

paused,  and  gazed  about  her  at  the  blissful  faces 
in  the  big  red  touring  car,  peeped  over  her  shoul- 
der at  the  green  steamer,  where,  in  the  midst  of 
happy  companions,  was  esconced  old  Mrs.  Far- 
well,  and  waved  to  Miss  Sally  Sloane  in  the  dark 
blue  car, — "enough  to  feed,  O  Sereny,  enough  to 
feast  the  multitude!" 


CHAPTER  XV 
THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN 

DAY  by  day,  September  was  passing,  and  it 
was  a  charming  morning  late  in  the  month,  when 
little  Mrs.  Wells,  contemplating  the  outer  world 
pensively,  remarked  to  her  roommate: 

"Peaceful,  ain't  it,  Sereny?  Seems  like  the 
garden  of  Eden  before  the — " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  wail  of  woe,  "Miau! 
Miau!  Miau!"  There  was  a  rush,  a  scramble,  a 
rattling  of  the  trellis  outside,  a  resonant,  "Bow- 
wow-wow !" 

Mrs.  Wells  sprang  up  hastily  and  leaning  from 
the  window,  announced,  "It's  that  horrid  big  Eng- 
lish mastiff  from  the  engine-house  on  tke  boule- 
vard, and  he's  chased  a  cat  into  our  honeysuckle." 
She  peered  down  into  the  thick  foliage  of  the  vine. 
"I  can  just  make  it  out.  It's  black  and  yellow 
and  white.  Then  cooingly,  "You  naughty  doggy, 
stop  it !" 

But  the  mastiff  paid  no  heed,  continuing  to 
bark  vociferously. 

"I'll  tend  to  his  case,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Go 
home,  you  beast !"  she  boomed ;  and  as  the  dog 
slunk  away,  she  adjured  in  mellifluous  accents, 
"Kitty!  Kitty!  Co-ome,  kitty!"  The  kitten 

mewed  piteously,  but  clung  still  more  closely  to 
136 


THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN        137 

the   honeysuckle   vine,   and   Mrs.    Dodd   directed: 
"Samanthy  Wells,  you  fetch  me  a  broom." 
Two  minutes  later,  the  brush  end  of  a  broom 
was  lowered  to  the  level  of  the  small  fugitive  and 
by  dint  of  coaxing,  he  was  induced  to  trust  him- 
self to  it  and  was  drawn  gently  to  the  window- 
ledge. 

"O  me!  O  my!"  grieved  Mrs.  Wells.  "He's 
thin's  a  rail,  though  he  ain't  such  a  turrible  young 
kitty." 

"How  folkses  can,  beats  me,"  stormed  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "Hire  someone  to  look  after  the  dogs, 
put  the  horses  out  in  nice  spring  pastur's,  bar- 
gain for  the  whole  entire  family  to  spend  the  sea- 
son at  one  of  them  firstclass  sky-high  hotels  up 
among  the  Berkshires  and  leave  little  innocents 
like  this  to  starve  all  by  their  lonesomes  in  a 
great  city!" 

The  big  Boston  "rocker"  creaked  indignantly 
as  she  plumped  down  into  it.  "Here,  you  gimme 
him,"  she  ordered.  "I've  had  'sperience.  Bold- 
wood  and  me  brung  up  a  baker's  dozen  of  young 
kittens  their  own  nateral  protectors  had  de- 
serted." Mrs.  Dodd  hugged  the  small  creature 
to  her  breast.  "Now  you  cut  along  to  Betty 
Macdonald  and  say  ain't  she  got  a  thimbleful  of 
milk  to  spare  and  to  heat  it  up  a  speck." 

Presently  Betty  appeared,  but  as'  she  placed  a 
brimming  saucer  on  the  floor,  she  said,  doubtfully, 
"I  don't  know  about  these  actions.  Miss  Timp- 
kins  ain't  got  back  from  market  yet,  but  I  ain't 


138          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

by  no  means  sure  she'll  approve  of  toling  cats 
around." 

"This  ain't  cats,  Betty  Macdonald,"  protested 
Mrs.  Wells,  reproachfully.  "It's  just  one  leetle, 
teenty-tonty  scrap  of  a  kittykin !  Oh,  do  see 
him  a-lapping  up  that  good  breakfast  with  his 
cunning  little  pink  tongue.  O  me !  O  my !  Wa'n't 
he  hungry?" 

Soon  the  other  ladies  of  the  household  had 
flocked  in,  and  old  Mrs.  Farwell  was  begging: 

"Let  me  hold  him  a  spell.  He's  the  very  im- 
age of  the  little  kitty  my  pa  lugged  all  the  way 
up  from  Falmouth  when  I  wa'n't  the  heighth  of 
a  pudding  stick,  a  reg'lar  patchwork  kitty  like 
this,  and  we  named  him  Joseph." 

"Who  for?"  demanded  Miss  Sally  Sloane. 

"For  Joseph,  the  son  of  Jacob,  of  course,"  re- 
joined old  Mrs.  Farwell,  in  mild  surprise.  She 
stroked  the  soft  yellow  and  black  and  white  fur. 
"Didn't  he  have  a  coat  of  many  colors  like  this 
dear  little  pussy-cat?  And  I  can  speak  a  piece 
about  him,  too."  She  crooned,  tremulously : 

"I  love  little  pussy,  his  coat  is  so  warm, 
And  if  I  don't  hurt  him,  he'll  do  me  no  harm. 
I'll  not  pull  his  tail  or  drive  him  away, 
But  pussy  and  I  very  gently  will  play." 

A  brisk  voice  from  the  doorway  addressed  the 
group,  "Why,  why,  ladies,  what  have  we  here?" 

There  was  a  babel  of  explanations  and  plead- 
ings, but  Miss  Timpkins  shook  her  head. 


THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN        139 

"I  wish  we  could  keep  him,"  she  answered,  re- 
gretfully, "but  we  cannot.  The  by-laws  are  very 
explicit,  'No  pets.'  I'll  notify  the  Society  for 
the  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals,  and  they'll 
dispose  of  him." 

As  Miss  Timpkins  departed,  Mrs.  Dodd  sighed: 

"I  s'pose  them  by-laws  is  like  the  ones  con- 
jured up  by  Mr.  Mead  and  several  other  persons, 
and  my  Boldwood,  he  told  me  oncet  they  couldn't 
never  be  changed,  not  for  nothing  nor  nobody!" 

The  clock  was  striking  two  when  the  agent  for 
the  society  of  the  many  initials  mounted  the  pol- 
ished oak  stairs  with  the  matron  and  was  met  at 
the  top  by  little  Mrs.  Wells  who  besought :  . 

"You'll  be  real  tender  with  him,  won't  you, 
Mister?  He's  a  turrible  frail  little  mite." 

"Certainly,"  assured  the  agent,  amiably,  and 
Mrs.  Wells  turned  and  led  the  way  back  to  her 
room.  But  the  patchwork  kitten,  that  only  a 
moment  before  had  been  basking  in  the  sunshine 
upon  the  window-ledge,  had  disappeared;  and  no 
living  being  was  to  be  seen  save  Mrs.  Serena 
Dodd,  drowsing  in  her  big  Boston  "rocker." 

"Kitty,  kitty,  kitty!"  called  Miss  Timpkins. 
"Kitty,  kitty,  kitty!"  called  Mrs.  Wells;  and 
"Kitty,  kitty,  kitty,"  called  the  agent.  But  at 
last  masculine  patience  was  exhausted,  and  the 
agent  declared: 

"I'm  in  a  hurry  to-day,  ma'am,  but  I'll  drop 
in  again  to-morrow." 

As  retreating  footsteps  were  heard  along  the 


140          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

corridor,  Mrs.  Dodd  opened  a  wary  black  eye. 
"Gone?"  she  breathed. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Wells,  "and  I'm  turrible 
glad  we  didn't  discover  that  darling  kitty  for  I 
do  say  that  not  a  mortal  soul  ought  to  be- 
grudge his  enj'ying  a  few  more  hours  of  this  bee- 
yutiful  autumn  weather." 

"I  say  and  I  do  is  diffrunt."  Mrs.  Dodd 
opened  wide  both  black  eyes.  "Sereny  Dodd,  she 
doos !  Samanthy  Wells,  you  shut  that  door." 

Wonderingly,  the  little  woman   obeyed. 

"Lock  it,"  was  the  curt  command,  and  Mrs. 
Wells  locked  it. 

Mrs.  Dodd,  bending  forward,  pulled  out  the 
lowest  bureau  drawer,  and  raising  a  pudgy  fore- 
finger, whispered,  "  'Sh !  'Sh !  Don't  make  a 
noise !  If  you  do,"  with  an  unctuous  chuckle,  "if 
you  do,  you'll  wake  the  baby  up!"  And  there, 
sure  enough,  in  the  lowest  bureau  drawer,  placidly 
slumbered  the  patchwork  kitten. 

"He  was  so  happy,"  beamed  Mrs.  Dodd, 
"a-napping  it  in  the  sunshine  that  somehow  or 
'nother,  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  let  him  be  disposed 
of.  So  soon's  you  skipped  out  into  the  hall,  I 
whisked  him  up  just  as  easy  and  popped  him 
in  out  of  sight.  With  that  crack  up  behind 
where  I'm  always  shunting  things  overboard,  I 
calc'lated  he  wouldn't  smother." 

"You're  so  smart,  Sereny,"  admired  Mrs. 
Wells,  "but,  oh,  how  did  you  darst?" 

Mrs.  Dodd  bridled.     "Didn't  darst  and  Sereny 


THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN        141 

Dodd  wa'n't  never  near  neighbors,"  she  retorted, 
"but  I  don't  take  no  credit  for  it.  I  was  born 
so."  She  reached  down  and  lifted  out  the  kit- 
ten. "Ain't  little  Joseph  hahnsome?" 

"He  is  so,"  assented  Mrs.  Wells,  "and  Joseph's 
turrible  appropriate,  but  a  bit  elderly,  don't 
you  think?  How'd  Josie  do  for  short, 
Sereny?" 

"I  guess  'twill  be  Josie  for  short,  all  right," 
gloomily  commented  Mrs.  Dodd,  "  'cording  to 
Miss  Timpkins  and  that  Cruelty  man !  Howsom- 
ever,"  her  face  glowed  with  the  sudden  thought, 
"my  Boldwood  always  said  what  man  had  done 
oncet  he  could  more'n  likely  do  again.  And.  don't 
man  embrace  woman?  And  ain't  Boldwood's  wife 
a  woman?  And  if  I've  hid  this  patchwork  kitty 
oncet,  can't  I  hide  him  some  more?" 

And  Mrs.  Wells  encouraged,  "  'Tennyrate,  you 
can  try,  for  my  Absalom,  he  used  to  say,  'Try 
can't  never  be  left  far  behind.' ' 

"That  there  patchwork  kitty  is  on  our  window- 
ledge  again,"  proclaimed  Mrs.  Dodd,  boldly,  that 
night  at  the  supper  table.  "Can't  Betty  Mac- 
donald  give  him  a  drink  of  milk?"  And  Miss 
Timpkins  nodded  goodnaturedly. 

Promptly  at  two  on  the  following  day  the 
Cruelty  man  arrived,  but  for  the  second  time  lit- 
tle Joseph  had  vanished,  and  while  the  matron 
glanced  into  the  closets  and  Mrs.  Wells —  O  Mrs. 
Wells ! — peeped  beneath  the  beds,  the  agent  dryly 
observed : 


142          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"A  window  ledge  touching  a  vine-covered  trellis 
is  no  prison  for  a  cat.  He's  miles  away  by  now, 
ma'am.  Good  day." 

"Whereas,"  chirped  little  Mrs.  Wells  an  hour 
later  to  her  assembled  companions,  "Betty  says  if 
all  of  us  ladies  will  agree,  'No  milk  in  our  tea,' 
she  and  Nora  can  manage  to  feed  little  Joseph 
'thout  no  extry  expense  to  the  Board  or  bother- 
ing Miss  Timpkins  one  ioty.  Resolved,  'Will  we 
do  it?'" 

"We  will,"  was  the  solemn  chorus. 

During  the  next  week  the  patchwork  kitten  was 
smuggled  in  and  out  under  various  concealing 
aprons  for  his  daily  exercise  in  the  garden.  By 
the  end  of  that  time  he  had  learned  to  climb  up 
and  down  the  trellis  path,  and  while  Miss  Timp- 
kins was  on  her  tour  of  marketing,  ten  to  eleven 
precisely  each  weekday  morning, — there  is  nothing 
like  methodical  habits  in  the  head  of  a  household 
to  promote  harmony — Joseph  entered  upon  his 
new  kingdom. 

He  strolled  in  upon  Miss  Sally  Sloane,  snug- 
gled lazily  among  Mrs.  Ford's  couch  cushions, 
cuddled  down  in  old  Mrs.  Farwell's  ever  ready 
lap  and  was  the  only  dweller  beneath  that  roof 
with  whom  bashful  Mrs.  Prendergast  talked 
freely. 

These  were,  indeed,  days  of  fearful  joy,  not 
only  days,  but  nights  also.  For  often  at  mid- 
night the  young  scamp  would  clamber  up  the 
trellis,  and  scratching  on  the  screen  would  mew 


THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN        143 

imperiously,  and  little  Mrs.  Wells,  starting  up  in 
her  bed,  would  exclaim : 

"There's  our  Josie!  Ain't  he  clever?" 
And  while  Mrs.  Dodd  was  muttering,  sleepily, 
"Most  too  clever!"  the  little  woman,  scurrying 
to  the  window,  would  lift  the  screen,  welcoming 
the  visitor  affectionately,  and  as  she  crawled  back 
beneath  the  blankets,  the  patchwork  kitten  would 
nestle  down  beside  her,  purring  with  satisfaction, 
only  to  rouse  her  again  at  daybreak,  demanding 
instant  egress. 

Then  the  October  nights  grew  colder,  much 
colder,  and  Joseph  came  not  once,  but  sometimes 
twice  and  thrice  between  midnight  and  dawn,  and 
although  Mrs.  Wells  still  attended  upon  the  small 
tyrant  with  alacrity,  Mrs.  Dodd  grumbled,  not 

"Upon  what  meat  doth  this  our  Csesar  feed 
That  he  hath  grown  so  great?" 

but  it's  Yankee  equivalent,  "Joseph's  getting  too 
big  for  his  boots.  He  needs  a  hot  loaf  on  his 
head." 

Then  came  one  morning  when  Mrs.  Wells  was 
found  to  have  a  headache  and  some  fever  and 
Mrs.  Dodd  was  immediately  transferred  to  an- 
other room  and  a  trained  nurse  installed. 

That  night,  a  night  of  frosty,  piercing  winds, 
there  sounded  as  usual  from  the  window-ledge  an 
urgent  summons,  but  the  nurse,  a  stalwart  maiden 
and  one  who  knew  not  Joseph,  did  not  admit  the 
young  rascal,  but  instead  cuffed  his  ears  vigor- 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

ously,  and  while  he  clattered  down  the  trellis, 
little  Mrs.  Wells  wept  silently  among  her  pil- 
lows. 

And  when  at  seven  o'clock,  Betty  Macdonald 
tiptoed  in  to  make  sympathetic  inquiries,  the  little 
woman  stretched  forth  an  appealing  hand  and 
murmured : 

".Josie  traveled  up  to  the  window  and  she 
wouldn't  let  him  in!" 

"Never  you  mind,"  consoled  Betty.  "I'll  see 
to  Joseph."  And  an  hour  later  the  patchwork 
kitten,  with  a  dish  of  cold  water  for  his  only  sus- 
tenance and  cheer,  was  roaming  forlornly  about 
the  cellar,  while  Nora  O'Hara  was  asking: 

"Ain't  you  going  to  give  the  little  fellow  a 
bite  to  eat?" 

"He  ain't  such  a  little  fellow,  after  all,"  as- 
serted Betty.  "He  was  half  starved  when  we 
took  him  in,  but  now  he's  been  having  his  three 
meals  a  day,  steady  and  reg'lar  ever  since,  he's 
full  capable  of  earning  his  own  living  like  the 
rest  of  us." 

And  the  patchwork  kitten  justified  Betty's  con- 
fidence, for  when,  on  the  following  morning, 
she  opened  the  cellar  door,  a  haughty  shape  in 
yellow  and  black  and  white  darted  forth  and  laid 
at  Betty's  feet  a  small  gray  trophy. 

"E-e-e!"  screamed  Nora,  while  Betty  exulted: 

"A  mouse!  A  mouse!"  Then  to  the  matron, 
emerging  from  the  dining-room,  "O  Miss  Timp- 
kins,  Joseph's  caught  a  mouse!" 


THE  PATCHWORK  KITTEN        145 

The  matron  stared  in  amazement.  "Joseph? 
Who's  Joseph?" 

"The  patchwork  kitten,  ma'am,"  responded 
Betty.  "  'Twas  Mrs.  Farwell  named  him,  ma'am, 
and  now  he's  proved  himself  the  grand  mouser, 
ma'am,  and  ain't  only  a  pet  no  longer,  ma'am, 
don't  you  suppose  the  board  will  let  him  stay  here 
with  us,  ma'am?"  And  Nora  O'Hara  chimed  in: 

"The  old  ladies,  they  do  love  Joseph  to  de- 
struction." 

"Joseph!"  repeated  the  dazed  Miss  Timpkins. 
"Mrs.  Farwell  named  him!"  confusedly.  "The 
old  ladies  love  him."  She  recalled  doors  gliding 
to  at  her  approach,  stifled  phrases  and — •  "Why 
to  be  sure,"  regarding  the  sleek  well-nourished 
feline  before  her,  "that's  where  the  milk  the  old 
ladies  have  been  refusing  for  their  tea  has  gone 
to.  Dear  me!  Dear,  dear  me!"  Then  "Well, 
under  the  circumstances  perhaps  the  board  will 
consent,  only — " 

But  the  head  of  the  household  was  speaking  to 
empty  air,  for  Betty  with  Joseph  in  her  arms  and 
Nora  O'Hara  at  her  heels  was  racing  up  the 
stairs  to  tell  the  joyful  tidings,  and  while  Mrs. 
Dodd,  sitting  in  Sally  Sloane's  room,  caressed 
the  patchwork  kitten,  little  Mrs.  Wells  from 
across  the  hall  piped,  hoarsely : 

"O  me !  O  my !  Ain't  we  tickled  'most  to  pieces 
that  that  Mr.  Mead  and  several  other  persons 
your  Boldwood  was  acquainted  with  ain't  never 
been  elected  to  our  board  of  managers!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 
THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE 

"  'LECTION'S  next  Tuesday,"  said  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  picking  up  The  Rising  Sun  the  morning 
of  the  last  day  of  October.  Her  hoarseness  was 
quite  gone  and  she  was  preparing  to  read  the 
news  of  the  day.  "Glorious  Injun  Summer 
weather,  too!  They'd  ought — " 

"Injun  Summer's  in  November,"  broke  in  Miss 
Sally  Sloane,  but  Mrs.  Dodd  instantly  affirmed: 

"That's  where  you're  mistook,  Sally  Sloane;  it 
don't  depend  on  times  or  seasons  or  whether  it's 
October  or  November.  It's  just  like  St.  Martin's 
Summer  the  Canajens  tell  about,  and  they  both 
come  along  in  the  autumn  just  after  the  fall  of 
the  leaf.  And,"  defiantly,  as  she  pointed  to  the 
leaves  swiftly  dropping,  yellow  and  brown,  from 
the  tall  trees  before  the  Home,  "if  my  word  ain't 
enough,  there's  the  proof!" 

Miss  Sloane  was  just  parting  her  lips  for  fur- 
ther remarks  when  Mrs.  Ford  hastily  inter- 
vened : 

"Going  to  tell  us  what's  in  the  paper,  Mrs. 
Wells?" 

And  little  Mrs.  Wells  began: 

"  'Grand       torchlight       parade !     Route       of 

march — '  " 

146 


THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE       147 

"Huh!"  scoffed  Mrs.  Dodd.  "Same  old  route 
as  they've  trod  over  this  last  seven  hundred  years, 
I'll  warrant !  Meet  at  Three  Arch  Bridge,  trail 
out  Abbey  Street,  cut  across  by  the  cemetery, 
poke  along  down  the  Water  Way  to  the  bridge 
again,  then  lay  down  their  arms  and  disperse 
'thout  one  of  us  hill  people  getting  so  much  as  a 
side-wise  squint  at  'em.  Them  marchers,"  with- 
eringly,  "be  a  feeble  folk!" 

"Not  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Wells.  "For  there's 
more  than  forty  clubs  of  out-of-towners  in  it,  and 
they  ain't  forgot  what  legs  is  for.  And  the  route 
of  march  is  up  Quinton  Hill,  through  Lafayette 
Place,  and — " 

"Lafayette  Place !"  interrupted  Mrs.  Ford. 
"Why,  that's  close  by,  just  behind  us!" 

Mrs.  Wells  turned  to  the  open  window,  and 
luxuriously  inhaling  the  sweet  fresh  air,  declared, 
"It's  balmy  as  balmy,  and  there  can't  be  any 
airthly  reason  why  we  couldn't  promenade  out  to 
the  corner  this  evening  and  enj'y  the  spe'tacle. 
I'll  put  it  to  Miss  Timpkins  soon's  she  comes  up." 

"She's  coming  now,"  announced  Miss  Sally 
Sloane  from  her  post  near  the  door.  "Miss 
Timpkins !  Mrs.  Wells  wants  a  word  with  you." 

The  next  instant,  Mrs.  Wells,  somewhat  pink 
of  cheek,  was  bravely  presenting  the  case  to  the 
matron,  who  answered: 

"Why,  I  have  no  objection,  only — "  she  hesi- 
tated, regarding  old  Mrs.  Farwell  in  her  wheeled 
chair. 


148          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"Oh,  I  ain't  lotting  on  going,"  averred  Mrs. 
Farwell,  in  thin  tremulous  tones.  "Some  things 
has  to  be,  and  there's  a  verse  of  Scriptur  I  learned 
long  long  ago:  'When  thou  wast  young  thou 
walkedst  whither  thou  wouldest  but  when 
thou  shalt  be  old  .  .  .  another  shall  carry 
thee.'  And  I've  noted  that  that  most  always 
means  you  stay  to  home.  Wish  I  could  see  them 
marchers,  though." 

"Never  you  mind,"  consoled  Miss  Timpkins, 
patting  Mrs.  Farwell's  shoulder.  "Betty  and 
Nora  may  escort  the  others,  but  I'm  going  to  stay 
right  here  with  you.  We'll  open  the  windows 
and  hear  the  music  and  have  a  good  time  all  by 
ourselves." 

"Now,  Betty  Macdonald,"  adjured  the  matron 
after  supper,  "you  and  Nora  had  better  run  down 
to  Sydney  Terrace — you  can  see  the  bridge  from 
there,  and  the  very  second  the  parade  starts, 
you  hurry  back  and  get  the  old  ladies.  Then 
there'll  be  just  time  enough  for  them  to  walk  out 
to  the  corner." 

At  eight  o'clock  the  two  maids  were  pacing 
briskly  along  the  boulevard  at  the  east  of  the 
Home,  but  as  they  turned  into  Lafayette  Place, 
they  stopped  abruptly.  On  the  opposite  side  of 
the  street  a  new  house  was  building  and  from 
its  foundations,  extending  to  the  middle  of  the 
road,  yawned  a  deep  wide  trench  flanked  by 
mounds  of  dirt  and  lengths  of  earthenware  pipe. 
A  huge  green-painted  tool-chest,  a  couple  of  bar- 


THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE       149 

rels  and  a  quantity  of  bricks  completed  the  barri- 
cade, and  from  curb  to  curb  stretched  an  array 
of  brightly  burning  lanterns  proclaiming,  "No 
passing  this  way." 

"Sure,"  ejaculated  Nora  O'Hara,  wrathfully, 
"  'tis  an  inimy  has  done  this !" 

Betty  pondered  for  a  moment  and  then  said, 
tersely,  "Mebbe  'tis!  Mebbe  'tain't!  Anyhow 
you  hustle  straight  back  and  keep  the  old  ladies 
upstairs  till  I  get  there,  too." 

As  Nora  promptly  obeyed  orders,  Betty  scaled 
the  tool-chest;  it  was  worth  while  having  grown 
up  on  the  Pictou  farm  with  six  venturesome  elder 
brothers  when  it  came  to  an  occasion  like  this. 
Then  in  hot  haste  she  dashed  to  Sydney  Terrace. 
Below  her  sounded  a  bugle;  and  crawling  forward 
from  the  bridge,  like  some  monstrous  fiery  dragon, 
was  the  parade,  its  hundred-eyed  head  already  on 
the  hill  and  its  glittering  tail  forking  back  up 
Abbey  Street  and  the  Water  Way. 

Meanwhile  Nora  was  the  center  of  an  agitated 
group,  with  Mrs.  Dodd  lamenting: 

"I  never  have  any  luck  at  all  with  torchlights ! 
The  first  one  ever  was  in  Torbolton  I  was  kind 
of  under  the  weather,  couldn't  stir  a  peg  nor 
raise  my  head  from  the  pillow  and  Boldwood  said 
it  was  the  finest  sight  he'd  ever  seed.  And  next 
time  if  he  hadn't  up  and  dropped  a  horseshoe  on 
his  inskip,  and  I  hadn't  the  heart  to  leave  him 
to  suffer  by  his  lonesome  and  me  out  frolicking! 
And  now — "  she  sobbed  bitterly. 


150          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

"Nora!  Nora!"  panted  Betty  Macdonald,  who, 
unobserved,  had  entered  the  house  and  was  mount- 
ing the  polished  oak  stairs.  "Nora !  Nora 
O'Hara!  You  open  the  door  on  the  upper  porch 
and  haul  out  Mrs.  Dodd's  big  Boston  rocker, 
and  Mrs.  Wells,  you  get  Mrs.  Dodd  right  out  into 
it!" 

She  pushed  by  the  astonished  women  and  darted 
into  Mrs.  Farwell's  room.  Grasping  the  wheeled 
chair,  she  propelled  it  with  its  occupant  into  the 
corridor,  and  trundling  it  forward,  bade  impera- 
tively, although  respectfully,  "Miss  Timpkins, 
you  fetch  her  shawl  and  rigolette.  She's  going 
to  watch  the  parade  from  the  top  piazzy.  We're 
all  going  to  watch  it.  It's  coming  by  here. 
There  ain't  a  minute  to  lose.  Nora  and  me'll 
lug  out  chairs  for  all  of  you  quick's  we  can." 

Talking  and  laughing  and  jostling  one  an- 
other, soon  all  were  out  on  the  veranda,  and  com- 
fortably arranged  with  knees  pressing  close 
against  the  balusters — not  a  back  seat  among 
them,  if  you  please,  all  in  the  front  row — peering 
over  the  broad  rail  eagerly,  expectantly,  and  oh, 
so  happy !  while  Betty,  drawing  a  contented 
breath,  explained: 

"When  I  sensed  the  parade  couldn't  get  through 
Lafayette  Place,  thinks  I,  this  is  one  of  them  ill 
winds  that  never  blows  nobody  no  good  'less  you 
make  it,  and  I  scrambled  over  and  just  scud. 
And  when  they  topped  Quinton  Hill  I  was  there, 
and  I  skipped  out  before  them  and  threw  up  my 


THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE       151 

hands  like  I  was  Dick  Turpentine  and  hollered! 
And  they  halted  square  in  their  tracks  and  began 
bumping  back  down  the  hill  against  each  other, 
the  hind  ones  yelling  to  know  what  was  up ;  and  the 
head  commander  most  fell  off  his  horse  when  I 
told  him  the  trouble,  and  said : 

"  'Great  Scott !  I'm  a  stranger  here.  Which 
way  shall  we  go?' 

"  'This  way,'  said  I,  and  I  beckoned,  and  they 
followed  on,  and  I  raced  ahead  's  if  I  had  wings 
to  my  heels.  Oh,  here  they  are!" 

Round  the  corner  of  Sydney  Street  was  swing- 
ing a  column  of  dancing  torchlights,  the  band  in 
the  van  crashing  out  a  rollicking  melody,  and 
Mrs.  Dodd,  her  tears  all  dried,  rejoiced: 

"Music !  And  'tis  Sereny  Dodd  that  knows  the 
tune —  'I'm  Captain  Jinks  of  the  Horse  Ma- 
rines.' Many  a  time  and  oft  have  I  heerd  my 
Boldwood  sing  that.  He  was  the  greatest  crit- 
tur  for  music  ever  you  see.  Why,  let  an  organ- 
grinder  strike  up  before  the  shop,  and  he'd  lay 
down  his  hammer  and  anvil  just  as  easy, 
and—" 

But  this  was  no  time  for  retrospection,  with 
flags  waving,  drums  beating,  fifes  shrilling,  trom- 
bones blaring,  and  red  fire  burning  till  it  seemed 
as  if  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the  universe  was 
suffused  with  its  crimson  glow. 

"Oh,  look,  look,  Mrs.  Farwell!"  cried  Betty 
Macdonald,  as  a  transparency  paused  before 
them.  "There's  something  special  for  you."  She 


152          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

chanted,  blithely,  "Oh,  have  you  heard  the  news 
from  Maine,  Maine,  Maine?" 

"No,  I  ain't,"  quavered  old  Mrs.  Farwell,  "but 
if  it's  news  from  Maine,  it's  bound  to  be  proper 
good  news." 

The  parade  moved  on,  and  bashful  Mrs.  Pren- 
dergast  called  out,  excitedly: 

"The  Rock!  The  Rock!  And  an  Injun  chief 
in  front  with  'What  cheer,  Netop?'  dangling 
around  his  neck,  and  there's  Roger  Williams  him- 
self in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  and  my  grandsir's 
there,  too!  My  great,  great,  great-grandsir ! 
His  pictur's  up  in  the  Historical  Rooms,  but 
never,  no  never,  did  I  expect  to  see  him  on  this 
mortal  sp'ere!" 

One  awestruck  moment!  Then  Mrs.  Ford  was 
pointing  with  triumphant  finger  at  a  great  tri- 
colored  wheel  uplifted  on  the  shoulders  of  a  score 
of  stalwart  men,  upon  its  upper  rim  emblazoned 
the  legend,  "We're  here,  let's  stay!"  And  Mrs. 
Ford  exulted: 

"Ain't  it  splendid  we're  all  one  party?" 

"  'Cept  me !"  disclaimed  Miss  Sally  Sloane, 
firmly.  "My  pa  and  his  pa  afore  him  away  back 
to  the  tea-fight,  was  on  tother  side,  and  Hain't 
for  me  to  deny  the  faith  of  my  fathers." 

"There,  there,"  soothed  Miss  Timpkins,  "we 
won't  dwell  on  our  differences.  Here's  something 
we  all  love." 

Advancing  up  the  avenue  was  a  gorgeously 
decorated  float.  Columbia  herself  clad  in  "celes- 


THE  TORCHLIGHT  PARADE       153 

tial  white,"  streaked  with  "morning  light,"  her 
"azure"  tunic  spangled  with  "stars  of  glory," 
sat  high  in  air.  About  her  were  clustered  thir- 
teen fair  maidens,  the  tiniest  of  all  standing  in 
the  forefront,  clasping  with  chubby  fist  the  staff 
of  the  state  banner,  the  banner  of  Hope,  gold 
and  blue  and  beautiful. 

The  vision  rolled  by. 

"Hurray !  Hurray  !"  chirped  little  Mrs.  Wells, 
suddenly  leaning  forward.  "There's  my  nephew 
Peter  Rawdon!  Hello,  Peter!" 

Someone  in  the  ranks  shouted,  "How  do,  Aunt 
Samanthy!"  Then  to  the  men  about,  "It's  the 
Old  Ladies'  Home,  and  the  old  ladies  are  out  re- 
viewing the  parade.  Three  cheers  for  'em!" 

Off  came  hats  and  caps  in  grand  salute.  Cheer 
rose  on  cheer,  not  three  cheers,  but  three  times 
three,  and  then  a  "tiger !" 

Company  on  company  trooped  by,  the  bands 
playing  their  prettiest,  "Hail  Columbia,"  "The 
Red,  White  and  Blue,"  "Yankee  Doodle,"  and 
"America,"  with  its  soul- thrilling  chords.  Then 
tramp,  tramp  tramp !  That  was  the  regiment 
of  cadets  from  the  college  on  the  hill,  a  thousand 
strong,  in  Greek  helmets  and  nut-brown  paper- 
cambric  togas,  led  by  their  own  brass  band,  which 
now  broke  forth  into,  "My  grandma  lives  on 
yonder  green." 

One  of  the  boys — perhaps  Slater  Jones,  who 
"tended"  the  Home  furnace — trolled,  lustily, 
"Finest  old  lady  ever  was  seen!"  and  the  young 


154>         SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

fellows  behind  joined  in,  and  presently  a  mighty 
chorus  was  roaring  up*  to  the  heavens. 

Then  the  lilting  measure  glided  softly  into, 
"Good  night,  ladies !  We're  going  to  leave  you 
now."  The  refrain  died  away  in  the  distance, 
the  last  spark  of  red  fire  flickered  out,  chairs  were 
scraped  back  from  the  balustrade. 

"Dear  me!"  exclaimed  Miss  Timpkins.  "It's 
long  past  ten  o'clock !  To  bed,  to  bed !" 

"Wait — wait  a  minute,  ladies,"  exhorted  Mrs. 
Wells.  "In  your  behalf,  let  me  offer  a  vote  of 
thanks  to  Elizabeth  Macdonald,  to  whom  we  are 
indebted  for  the  pleasure  of  this  evening.  It's 
just  as  my  ma  always  said,  when  one  door  shuts 
in  this  world  another  one  opens.  Leastwise  it's 
unbolted  and  unbarred,  though  'tain't  every  one 
knows  enough  to  do  what  our  Betty  done — turn 
the  knob  and  give  the  door  a  little  shove!" 


CHAPTER  XVII 
MRS.    DODD'S    COLLECTING   DAY 

"ONE  dozen  new  pink-and-white  striped  outing 
flannel  babies'  pinning-blankets !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  enunciated  the  words  joyously.  She 
snapped  off  her  thread,  dropped  her  open-topped 
steel  thimble  on  the  table,  and  spreading  upon  her 
knees  the  little  garment  in  which  she  had  just  set 
the  last  stitch,  caressed  it  into  shape,  repeating, 
unctuously : 

"One  dozen  new  pink-and-white  striped  outing 
flannel  babies'  pinning-blankets.  My,  but  that's 
a  lot  of  the  Lord's  little  ones  to  keep  warm !"  She 
leaned  back  in  her  big  Boston  "rocker"  and  gaz- 
ing out  into  the  gray  November  day,  added, 
"Massy  knows  they'll  need  'em!  Winter's  com- 
ing in  awful  early  this  year.  Folks  on  the  Ave- 
nue look  'most  froze  to  death !"  A  moment  later 
she  was  listening  to  the  great  clock  on  the  land- 
ing striking  the  hour  of  three  and  went  on,  "Full 
time  some  other  people  had  their  promises  re- 
deemed." 

From  the  low  wicker  chair  opposite,  Mrs.  Wells, 
knitting  frantically  upon  a  cotton  yarn  wash- 
cloth, uttered  a  breathless,  "Only  two  more  rows, 
Sereny,  and  the  binding-off,  and  I'm  ready,  too !" 

Without  answering,  Mrs.  Dodd  rose  to  her  feet, 
155 


156          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

lumbered  across  the  floor,  and  laid  the  pinning- 
blanket  upon  a  pile  of  similar  small  garments  at 
one  end  of  her  white  counterpaned  bed. 

Then  she  spoke  relentingly,  "Well,  well,  Sa- 
manthy,  mebbe  I  shouldn't  have  been  so  fore- 
handed neither  if  Mrs.  Waldron  and  the  rest  of 
the  board  hadn't  got  so  stocked  up  on  flat-iron 
holders  that  I  couldn't  sell  them  another  one  to 
raise  any  more  money  to  buy  any  more  stuff. 
Anyhow,  I've  got  one  dozen  new — " 

"Your  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to  Holt  is 
marching  through  the  gate,"  interrupted  Mrs. 
Wells. 

Presently  Miss  Lydia  Barren  was  greeting 
cheerily,  "How  do,  Mrs.  Wells !  How  do,  Aunt 
Serena!  Here's  my  contribution  to  your  cloth- 
ing society."  And  diving  into  her  shopping  bag, 
Miss  Lydia  produced  a  diminutive  parcel. 

"I  do  wish,"  protested  Mrs.  Dodd,  "that  you 
would  not  call  it  my  clothing  society,  just  be- 
cause I'm  collecting  for  it !  It's  yours  as  much 
as  'tis  mine  s'long's  you  donate  your  two  new 
garments  a  year.  The  name  of  it  is  'The  Ye 
Clothed  Me  Society,'  and  it's  a  'normous  or- 
ganization extending  all  over  the  United  States 
and  Canady  and  numbering  thou — '  She  halted. 
The  quotation  from  the  pamphlet  published  an- 
nually by  the  society  in  question  was  left  un- 
finished, while  Mrs.  Dodd  stared  blankly  at  the 
contents  of  the  packet  from  which  she  had  been 
unwrapping  the  paper.  Then  with  a  stiff,  "Much 


MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY     157 

obleeged,  Lyddy,"  she  placed  Miss  Barren's  con- 
tribution beside  the  pinning-blankets. 

Her  niece's  countenance  expressed  perplexity. 
"Isn't  that  right,  Aunt  Serena?  You  said  hand- 
kerchiefs, I  know  you  said  handkerchiefs." 

"I  did  say  handkerchiefs,"  acknowledged  Mrs. 
Dodd,  with  asperity.  "Certain  sure  I  said 
handkerchiefs,  but  I  meant  that  for  them  as 
couldn't  or  wouldn't  do  better  than  'two  for  five, 
marked  down  for  this  day  only.'  There's  always 
plenty  of  them  given !  I  did  not,"  with  emphasis, 
"mean  fine,  pure  linen,  hemstitched,  two-inch  bor- 
der handkerchiefs  with  a  wreath  of  flowers  em- 
broidered in  the  corner  and  costing  fifty,  cents 
if  they  cost  one  penny !" 

"Seventy-five,"  murmured  Miss  Lydia. 

"Worser  and  more  of  it,"  commented  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "Now,  what  I  really  said  was  'Handker- 
chiefs or  stockings  or  underwears,  men's  and 
boy's  wearing  apparel  particklar!'  But  there,  I 
ain't  in  the  habit  of  peeking  into  gifthorses' 
mouths  and  counting  their  teeth,  and  I'm  truly 
glad  to  get  anything!  Howsomever,  next  time," 
Mrs.  Dodd's  black  eyes  twinkled,  "if  you  can't 
screw  up  your  courage  to  asking  for  men's  or 
boys'  apparel,  just  you  buy  a  good  pair  of  single 
cotton  sheets.  The  society  craves  them  every 
year." 

"I'll  bear  it  in  mind,  Aunt  Serena,"  rejoined 
Miss  Lydia,  then,  pointing  from  the  window,  "Be- 
hold !  Milady  Van  Dusenberry  Bill's  coach  blocks 


158          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

the  way!  Excuse  me!"  And  Miss  Barren  dis- 
appeared through  the  door. 

The  newcomer's  silken  train  rustled  richly  as 
she  crossed  the  threshold  and  with  its  billowy 
expansiveness  it  seemed  to  fill  and  overflow  the 
room.  Mrs.  Wells  shrank  back,  but  Mrs.  Dodd 
stood  her  ground  sturdily. 

"Huh!"  she  muttered  to  herself.  "Guess  I 
ain't  skeered  of  Barbary  Bill !  Tied  on  her  pina- 
fore too  many  times  whilst  I  housekept  for  her 
pa  'twixt  his  two  wives !" 

The  next  instant  she  found  herself  encircled 
by  a  pair  of  velvet  clad  arms,  her  nose  buried  in 
costly  furs,  the  ostrich  plumes  of  a  huge  picture 
hat  nodding  above  her  and  as  she  emerged  from 
this  ardent  embrace,  Mrs.  Van  Dusenberry  Bill's 
tripping  accents  saluted  her. 

"So  pleased  and  charmed  to  see  you,  dear 
Aunty  Dodd.  When  I  awoke  this  morning  and 
removed  the  slip  from  the  calendar  and  espied 
the  date  and  perused  those  inspiriting  lines : 

'While  the  poor  gather  round  to  the  end  of  time, 
May  this  bright  flower  of  charity  display 
Its   bloom,  unfolding  at  the  appointed  day/ 

I  said  to  Van,  'That  means  me,  for  to-day  is  the 
collection  for  Aunty  Dodd's  clothing  society.'  " 

Mrs.  Dodd  parted  her  lips  to  remonstrate, 
thought  better  of  it,  and  closed  them  resignedly. 

From  her  fluffy  muff  Mrs.  Bill  extracted  a  tiny 


MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY     159 

roll  and  thrust  it  into  Mrs.  Dodd's  hands  which 
she  clasped  between  both  her  own. 

"It  is  a  small  offering,  not  at  all  what  I  long 
to  give  you,  dear  Aunty  Dodd,  but  such  as  it  is, 
a  vast  deal  of  love  and  kindly  feeling  goes  with 
it."  She  beamed  down  upon  her  hostess,  kissed 
her  upon  both  cheeks  and  with  a  last  pressure  of 
the  imprisoned  hands  and  a  final  "Best  wishes  for 
your  noble  undertaking,  Aunty  Dodd,"  Mrs.  Van 
Dusenberry  Bill  frou-froued  from  the  room. 

Mrs.  Dodd  untied  the  blue  ribbon  that  bound 
the  "small  offering"  and  tore  off  the  covering. 
For  a  full  minute  there  was  silence.  Then  Mrs. 
Dodd  groaned. 

"I  was  positive  'twas  handkerchiefs,  too ! 
And  I  kept  praying,  'Lord,  Lord,  give  me  a 
thankful  heart !'  and  they're  shoe-strings !" 

"Why-ee!"  ejaculated  little  Mrs.  Wells,  shrilly. 
"Why-ee,  Sereny  Dodd,  I  never  heerd  the  like !" 

"Well,  you  hear  it  now,"  retorted  Mrs.  Dodd, 
wrathfully.  "Want  to  hear  it  again?  Shoe- 
strings !  Shoe-strings !"  She  glared  at  the  of- 
fending objects  in  her  plump  palm. 

"There,  there,"  comforted  Mrs.  Wells,  "I 
wouldn't  feel  bad  a  mite,  Sereny.  There  has  to 
be  shoe-strings,  and  like  enough  Barbary  Bill 
thinks  shoes  grow  on  bushes !  She  was  reared 
in  the  lap  of  luxury  as  you  might  say,  and  I 
wouldn't  wonder  if  her  bare  toes  hadn't  never 
touched  cold  cobblestones  in  all  her  nateral  born 
life.  Tennyrate  it  counts  two  more,  and  my 


160          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

facecloths  are  all  done  and  they  make  another 
two.  Why,  you've  got  eighteen  already!" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mrs.  Dodd,  grimly,  "and 
twelve  I  made  myself!" 

It  was  seven  o'clock,  and  again  Miss  Lydia 
Barren  had  ascended  the  stairs  at  the  Torbolton 
Home  for  Indigent  Females. 

"Dear  me,  Aunt  Serena,  but  your  bed  looks 
packed  ready  to  start.  Guess  your  members  all 
turned  up!" 

"They  did  so,"  affirmed  Mrs.  Dodd,  happily. 
"Miss  Sally  Sloane,  she  hadn't  joined  at  all,  but 
she  donated  well.  Samanthy  and  me  we  felt  con- 
demned when  we  saw  what  'twas,  for  we'd  been 
remarking  only  last  night  on  how  scant  she'd 
made  her  new  print  bedgowns,  and  there,  she'd 
narrowed  the  gores  and  skinched  on  the  flounces 
till  she'd  squeezed  out  two  of  the  elegantest  little 
girls'  calico  petticoats  ever  you  cast  eyes  on. 
And  Betty  Macdonald  fetched  in  a  punkin  hood, 
all  wadded,  and  a  pair  of  speckled  leggings  like 
they  wear  down  in  Pictou  County,  and  said  she 
wouldn't  doane  them  in  this  town  for  money! 
And  I  could  have  'em  and  welcome.  Betty's 
generous  as  they  make  them!  And  Cousin  John 
from  over  Ta'nton  way  lugged  in  a  bundle  from 
Luelly — I  never  even  asked  her  to  contribute, 
only  sent  a  last  year's  report  with  my  name  writ- 
ten big  and  black  and  bold  out  on  the  aidge — 
and  there  were  six  new  dish-towels  and  six  new 
hand-towels  and  two  lovely  pin-and-spool  worsted 


MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY     161 

lamp-mats  from  dear  little  Ethelindy  and  Cousin 
John  said  if  the  society  wasn't  accepting  orna- 
ments they  could  tack  on  tapes  and  use  'em  for 
chest  protectors.  And  when  I  saw  him  standing 
up  so  smiling  and  pleasant  I  took  my  life  in  my 
hand  and  said  I,  'Cousin  John,  I'm  all  fixed  for 
but  my  moneyed  member,'  and  with  that  he 
hauled  out  a  crisp  one-dollar  greenback  and 
tucked  it  into  my  hand." 

"Don't  forget  to  tell  your  niece  Lyddy  'bout 
them  nice  checked  gingham  aperns,"  piped  up 
little  Mrs.  Wells. 

"Massy  sakes,  no !"  said  Mrs.  Dodd.  "  'Twas 
Miss  Baizel  fetched  them.  She's  a  seamstress, 
goes  out  by  the  day,  lame,  and  poorer  than  Job's 
turkey's  littlest  picked  chicken  ever  was.  But 
she's  got  the  giving  sperit !  She'd  been  up  on 
Nob  Hill  all  day,  and  was  white's  a  ghost,  and 
I  inquired  straight  out,  'What  did  you  have  for 
lunch?'  and  she  answered  up,  just  as  sprightly, 
'Some  nice  Graham  crackers  and  a  glass  of  good 
fresh  water!'  Didn't  even  look  criss-cross,  and 
I  said,  'You  set  by  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  along 
of  me.'  They've  been  sending  me  up  my  supper 
lately  and  I  calc'lated  to  divide  'even  Stephen.' 

"But  Samanthy,  she  stole  downstairs  and  told 
Miss  Timpkins  all  about  it.  And  I  will  say  Miss 
Timpkins  has  a  heart  of  gold.  •  She  sent  up  an 
extry  plate  and  cup  and  saucer  and  two  por- 
tions of  cornbeef  hash  and  hot  biscuit  and  clove 
(gingerbread  and  I  got  out  that  tumbler  of  grape 


162          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

jell  you  brung  me  in  tother  day  and  'twas  a  sight 
to  make  angels  sing  to  see  how  they  relished! 
And  two  cups  of  good  strong  tea!  I  didn't 
water  it  down  an  atom.  No  ma'am!  Returned 
that  hot  water  pitcher  full  to  the  brim.  Miss 
Baizel's  gone  now,  but  how  come  you  back,  Niece 
Lyddy?" 

From  beneath  her  voluminous  cape,  Miss  Bar- 
ron  shook  forth  sweeping  folds  of  white.  "Best 
English  drilling,"  she  proclaimed,  "corded  with 
Turkey  red  on  collars  and  cuffs,  and  warranted 
tough  as  sole  leather!" 

"O  Lyddy,  Lyddy!"  Mrs.  Dodd  laughed  out- 
right in  her  glee.  "If  it  wa'n't  clever  of  you 
to  go  and  get  them  men's  apparel  after  all. 
That  makes  me  thirty-six  pieces,  not  count- 
ing Barbary  Bill's  two  bunches  of  shoe-strings. 
Unless,"  she  put  forth  a  tentative  hand,  "un- 
less, Lyddy,  you  want  to  take  back  the  hand- 
kerchiefs ?  " 

"No,  indeed,  Aunt  Serena!  Your  collection 
wouldn't  be  complete  without  them.  You 
haven't,"  mischievously,  "got  one  single  one  be- 
sides !  Well,  good-by,  it's  train  time."  And 
Mrs.  Dodd  was  left,  contemplating  rapturously 
the  gallant  array  upon  the  white  counterpaned 
bed. 

Presently  she  spoke,  but  it  was  in  an  under- 
tone and  to  herself,  "I've  a  notion  to  keep  back 
some  of  them  pinning-blankets !  Folks  may  not 
do  so  well  another  year,  and  all  I  really  must 


MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY     163 

have  is  the  twenty-two."  She  went  on  reflec- 
tively, "It's  sort  of  new-broomy  this  year!" 

She  glanced  toward  Mrs.  Wells  who  was  gazing 
abstractedly  out  upon  the  twinkling  lights  of  the 
Avenue.  With  sudden  resolution  Mrs.  Dodd  rose, 
gathered  up  ten  of  the  pinning-blankets  and 
treading  softly  across  the  floor,  laid  them  away  in 
the  depths  of  the  bureau. 

Retracing  her  steps,  she  sank  into  her  big 
Boston  "rocker,"  rested  her  fat  elbows  upon  its 
broad  arms,  leaned  her  head  against  the  cushion 
at  the  back,  and  drew  a  sigh  of  contentment. 
But  her  repose  was  only  momentary.  Her  head 
popped  up. 

"My  sakes  alive,  Samanthy  Wells!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "If  you  and  me  ain't  neglecting  our 
plain  everyday  Christian  duties,  just  because 
Sereny  Dodd's  going  to  be  a  director  in  'The 
Ye  Clothed  Me  Society!'  Do  you  know  what  we 
ain't  done  that  we'd  ought  to  have  done,  Sa- 
manthy Wells?" 

Mrs.  Wells  turned  from  the  window.  Her 
startled  eyes  followed  the  direction  of  Mrs.  Dodd's 
finger  and  fell  upon  the  calf-skin  covered  Bible 
on  the  table.  "My  stars,  Sereny!"  gasped  the 
little  woman.  "Our  course  reading!"  She  took 
the  Bible  and  opened  it. 

Again  Mrs.  Dodd  leaned  back-  her  head  upon 
the  cushion  and  an  expression  of  calm  benignity 
crept  over  her  face. 

"Fifth  Chapter  of  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles," 


SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

began  Mrs.  Wells,  very  clearly.  "  'But  a  certain 
man  named  Ananias  with  Sapphira,  his  wife,  sold 
a  possession  and — ' '  Her  voice  trailed  off  into 
indistinctness,  and  she  grew  very  pale. 

"What  you  mumbling  like  that  for,  Sa- 
manthy?"  impatiently  demanded  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"Can't  hear  nothing  you  say!  Read  that  out 
again !" 

And  Mrs.  Wells  read  it  out  again,  though 
falteringly,  "  'But  a  certain  man  named  Ananias 
with  Sapphira,  his  wife,  sold  a  possession  and 
kept  back  part  of  the  price !' '  Mrs.  Wells 
stopped.  "O  Sereny,"  she  wailed,  "kept  back 
part  of  the  price!" 

Mrs.  Dodd  sat  up  very  straight  in  her  chair. 
Bewilderment,  then  indignation  showed  in  her 
countenance.  A  spot  of  scarlet  blazed  on  each 
cheek. 

"Why,  Samanthy,"  she  stammered.  "Why, 
Samanthy  Wells !  Are  you  comparing  me  with 
Ananias  and  Sapphira?  Me,  Sereny  Dodd, 
Boldwood  Dodd's  lawful  widow,  and  your  faith- 
ful companion,  lo,  these  many  years  ?  Oh !  Oh ! 
Samanthy !" 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  her  plump  cheeks 
as  she  ponderously  walked  to  the  bureau,  and 
pulling  out  a  drawer,  disclosed  to  Mrs.  Wells's 
astonished  eyes,  ten  "new  pink-and-white  striped 
outing  flannel  babies'  pinning-blankets,"  and  as 
she  feverishly  dragged  them  forth,  she  continued: 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  a  wicked  old  woman,  Samanthy ! 


MRS.  DODD'S  COLLECTING  DAY     165 

But  I  really  don't  think  'twas  more  than  a  pass- 
ing idee.  Truly  I  don't  believe  I'd  've  done  it." 

She  cast  an  appealing  look  at  Mrs.  Wells,  who, 
an  instant  later,  precipitated  herself  upon  Mrs. 
Dodd's  ample  bosom,  sobbing  wildly: 

"O  Sereny,  Sereny!  We're  two  wicked  old 
women,  each  more  'niquitous  than  the  other,  for 
Nephew  Peter  paid  me  enough  for  them  paper 
lamplighters  to  buy  cotton  for  four  wash-cloths, 
and  I  knitted  four,  but  I  kept  back  two  to  give 
away  for  Christmas  presents.  That's  why  I  was 
so  long  finishing  up  that  last  one,  'twas  the 
fourth  'stead  of  the  second!  Oh,  but  my  con- 
science has  pricked  me  sore,  Sereny,  Sereny!" 

Mrs.  Dodd  stood  aghast.  Her  tears  dried,  her 
color  faded,  and  she  spoke  with  conviction: 

"I  knew  this  'Ye  Clothed  Me  Society'  business 
was  bound  to  be  an  awful  test  of  character,  an 
awful,  awful  test!  But  little  did  Sereny  Dodd 
realize  who  was  going  to  be  the  individooals  tried 
and  found  wanting!  Howsomever,"  with  solemn 
fervor,  "confession  is  good  for  the  soul  and 
repentance  ain't  never  too  late,  'specially  'fore 
we've  done  the  deed.  You  spunk  along  with  them 
wash-cloths,  Samanthy  Wells,  and  we'll  wrop  up 
that  bundle  now  afore  you  and  me  fall  by  the 
wayside  again !" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
THE    CHRISTMAS    BLESSING 

THANKSGIVING  was  over,  and  in  the  comfortable 
south-west  front  corner  room,  little  Mrs.  Wells 
was  swaying  to  and  fro  in  her  low  willow  sewing- 
chair,  crooning  softly  to  herself,  "Christmas  is 
coming,  o-ho,  o-ho!  Christmas  is  coming,  o-ho!" 

"How  soon,  Samanthy?"  inquired  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"Figured  it  out?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "Four  weeks 
and  one  day  exact  from  to-morrow.  It  may 
seem  a  bit  early  to  be  getting  ready  for  it,  but 
when  folkses  admire  to  make  Christmas  presents 
the  way  you  and  me  do,  Sereny — " 

"And  when  also,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Dodd,  "we 
can't  raise  a  copper  penny,  no,  not  so  much  as 
a  leather  sixpence  between  us  to  go  shopping  with, 
and  is  simply  obleeged  to  conjure  everything  out 
of  something  less  than  nothing,  why  then — " 
slowly. 

"Why,  then,"  encouraged  Mrs.  Wells,  "we  can't 
start  in  too  early.  It  takes  loads  and  loads  of 
time,  but  that's  wherein  Sereny  Dodd  and 
Samanthy  Wells  is  rich  as  the  richest." 

"We  have  got  all  there  is,"  acknowledged  her 
roommate.  "What's  that  you're  working  on?" 

"A     darning-needle    holder,"     answered    Mrs. 
166 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BLESSING       167 

Wells,  displaying  for  inspection  a  tiny  sausage- 
shaped  roll  of  emerald  green  satin,  "for  Betty 
Macdonald's  Christmas  gift.  Nora  O'Hara 
clipped  off  the  end  of  her  best  sash  to  make  it, 
and  I  calc'late  you  'n'  me  can  scrape  up  needles 
enough  to  stock  it,  so's  it  can  go  from  us  both." 

"Certain,"  declared  Mrs.  Dodd,  with  en- 
thusiasm. "And  we  can  always  borry  one  back 
in  case.  Betty'll  be  perfectly  willing;  she's  a 
good  child." 

"Good,  gooder,  goodest,"  continued  Mrs. 
Wells.  "And  I  did  long  and  want  to  buy  her 
one  of  them  raging  fur  boars,  but  I  guess  'want 
must  be  my  master,'  like  he's  often  been  before. 
Anyhow,  I  mean  well." 

"You  mean  well,  Samanthy,"  averred  Mrs. 
Dodd,  stoutly,  "and  you  do  well  'cording  to  your 
means."  She  leaned  forward  and  lifted  an  im- 
perative forefinger.  "Now  let  me  talk.  I  ain't 
told  you  yet  something  else  you  and  me  are  go- 
ing to  do,  something  grand!" 

Mrs.  Wells  listened  with  interest,  her  small 
peaked  face  all  aglow,  while  Mrs.  Dodd  ex- 
pounded : 

"I've  been  a-trying  to  get  at  the  doing  of  it 
for  years  on  eend,  but  'tain't  been  a  speck  of  use. 
The  way  folkses  have  been  scairt  of  wearing  any- 
thing bright  or  heart-warming  has  been  to  my 
notion  a  real  reflection  on  the  Lord's  own  handi- 
work. Ain't  the  birds  and  the  flowers  and  the 
dawn  and  the  sunset  dressed  up  gorgeous?  They 


168          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

be.  But  folkses  is  doing  better  now,  and  so'm  I. 
She'll  be  awful  pleased  with  it,  I  persume." 

"She?     Who?     What?"  demanded  Mrs.  Wells. 

From  the  light-stand  drawer  before  her,  Mrs. 
Dodd  extracted  a  parcel  of  gay-hued  silks,  pro- 
claiming solemnly,  "Mrs.  Waldron,  president  of 
our  board,  and  the  crazy-patchwork  sofa-cushion 
cover  we  will  surprise  her  with  on  Christmas 
Day." 

The  little  woman  opposite  uttered  a  cry  of 
delight. 

"O  me,  0  my!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  that  ain't 
providential!  Why,  I  can  contribute  my  mite, 
too!  There's  a  square  of  the  green  left  over 
from  the  darning-needle  holder,  and  Betty  Mac- 
donald  donated  me  the  orange  panne  velvet  off 
her  last  winter's  hat,  and  though  it's  faded  in 
spots,  after  they're  nipped  out,  and  I've  made 
the  carrot  pincushion  for  Nora  Betty  give  it  me 
for,  there'll  be  an  elegant  good  piece  besides." 

"Elegant,  elegant!"  approved  Mrs.  Dodd, 
bringing  her  pudgy  palms  together  resoundingly. 
"Orange  is  turrible  scarce,  too.  Just  turrible. 
Why,  I  ain't—" 

"And,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Wells,  frenziedly  rum- 
maging through  her  work-basket,  "here's  oceans 
of  that  waste  silk  my  nephew,  Peter  Rawdon, 
fetched  me  oncet  on  a  time.  All  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow  and  half  a  hundred  more." 

She  shook  out  the  tangle  of  silks,  and  Mrs. 
Dodd  rejoiced: 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BLESSING       169 

"You  surely  are  an  old  reliable,  Samanthy!" 
Then,  questioningly,  "You  can  feather-stitch?" 

"I  know  how,  but  I  ain't  never  practiced 
much,"  deprecated  the  little  woman. 

"Well,  you  can  'practice  makes  perfect*  on 
this,  all  right,"  assured  her  roommate.  "There'll 
be  an  awful  lot  to  do  on  it,  for  Sereny  Dodd,  she 
don't  even  know  how.  But  she  done  Kensington 
in  her  youth,  and  there  ain't  a  doubt  that  she'll 
pick  it  up  again,  if  she's  driv'  hard  enough." 

And  so,  in  glad  anticipation,  the  sofa-cushion 
cover  was  begun,  and  day  in  and  day  out,  Mrs. 
Wells  catstitched  and  featherstitched,  chain- 
stitched  and  starstitched,  brierstitched  and 
French-knotted,  while  Mrs.  Dodd,  with  anxious, 
determined  old  fingers  and  a  permanent  scowl  on 
her  brow,  "done  Kensington." 

At  last  the  brilliant  mosaic  of  colors  was  fin- 
ished, and  as  it  lay  outspread  upon  the  white 
counterpane,  the  two  women  contemplated  it  with 
ecstasy. 

Presently  Mrs.  Dodd  burst  forth,  "That  rose- 
pink  taffety  like  my  niece  Lyddy  from  over  to 
Holt's  best  waist  is  bee-yutiful,  though  some- 
times I  sort  of  mistrust  perhaps  the  cardinal 
satin  like  her  second-best  is  full  as  hahnsome. 
They  both  give  me  an  awful  happy  feeling!" 

"That  sky-blue  from  Miss  Timpkins's  gown  is 
lovely,"  ventured  Mrs.  Wells. 

"Mebbe,"  admitted  Mrs.  Dodd.  "You  all  say 
so,  but  blue  freezes  me  up  worse  than  the  purple 


170          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

you  cut  out  of  the  necktie  you  begged  from  your 
nephew,  Peter  Rawdon.  But  there,"  she  chuck- 
led genially,  "I'm  e'enamost  tickled  to  death  with 
every  identical  one  on  'em!  The  plums  and  the 
prunes  and  the  navies  and  browns  and  all  the 
storm-cloudy  shades  set  off  our  embroidery  splen- 
did." She  paused,  but  a  moment  later  continued 
earnestly,  "  'Twas  a  noble  thought  of  yours,  Sa- 
manthy,  to  trace  off  them  pictur's  in  the  back  of 
the  magazines;  that  baby-shoe  outlined  in  pink 
floss  is  just  sweet!" 

"Oh,  that  ain't  nothing,"  modestly  disclaimed 
Mrs.  Wells.  "Nor  the  kites  nor  the  pitchforks ! 
But  your  real  hand-wrought,  double-threaded, 
standy-out  harps  and  crowns  and  anchors  with 
'Hope'  printed  along  the  sharves,  they  beat  the 
Dutch  and  Tom  Walker !  I  never,  no,  never  in 
all  my  life  ever  see  the  like !" 

Mrs.  Dodd  preened  herself.  "I  done  my  leetle 
best,"  she  said,  complacently. 

"But  now  comes  the  tug  of  war,"  piped  up 
Mrs.  Wells.  "What  be  you  conceiting  to  line  it 
with,  Sereny?" 

The  radiance  died  out  of  Mrs.  Dodd's  counte- 
nance. "I  ain't  an  idee,"  she  rejoined,  plain- 
tively. "Not  more'n  little  Ethelindy  Green  over 
to  Ta'nton.  It's  worrying  me  something  awful! 
My  sakes,  if  I  only  had  the  piece-bag  I  had  when 
I  was  first  married  and  kept  a-hung  up  in  the  ell 
chamber!  There  was  stuff  and  stuff  and  stuff 
again,  if  you  please." 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BLESSING       171 

"I  'spect  so,"  smiled  Mrs.  Wells,  "but  then's 
then  and  now's  now.  But  I've  got  a  scheme. 
Want  to  hear  it?"  and  as  Mrs.  Dodd  nodded  eag- 
erly, the  little  woman  went  on: 

"You  can  take  it  or  leave  it  just  as  you  choose, 
but  here  'tis.  Far's  I  can  see,  there  can't  a  soul 
on  airth  stop  you  'less  you  let  on  beforehand. 
And  they  can't  then,  if  you  stick  to  it.  'Tain't 
their  business  in  one  way  though  I  ain't  denying 
it  is  in  another.  'Tennyrate,  you  need'nt  fla'nt 
it  under  their  noses,  not  immejiate  anyhow. 
Leastwise  I  shouldn't !  And  they  say  it's  right- 
eous judgment  to  judge  others  by  yourself.  And 
I  can't  imagine  why  anyone  should  care  but  you. 
But  p'raps  you'd  better  decide  for  yourself.  I'll 
be  satisfied  either  way." 

"Samanthy  Wells!"  exploded  Mrs.  Dodd. 
"You  tell  me,  you  tell  me  quick!" 

"It's  your  new  flannelet  dressing-sack,"  whis- 
pered Mrs.  Wells. 

"My  new  flannelet  dressing-sack !" 

"  'Sh !  'Sh !  Don't  holler  so !"  cautioned  Mrs. 
Wells.  "Yes,  ma'am,  your  new  pink  flannelet 
dressing-sack !  I'd  offer  mine  instanter  if  'twa'nt 
gored  so  turrible,  but  yours  is  just  gethered  onto 
the  collar-band,  and  a  good  po'tion  of  the  middle 
would  fit  us  out  complete.  I'll  cadgel  in  a  piece 
of  the  old  one  so  you  won't  ketch  cold,  but  I  warn 
you,  Sereny,  you  mustn't  turn  your  back  on  any- 
body, be  he  friend  or  foe!" 

"Huh!"  grunted  Mrs.  Dodd.     "Ever  seen  me?" 


172          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  Once  more  upon  the 
white  counterpane  was  outspread  in  all  its  glory 
the  crazy-patchwork  sofa-cushion  cover. 

"Done!  Well  done!"  pronounced  little  Mrs. 
Wells.  "Three  sidess  of  that  pink  flannelet  lining 
is  over  and  overed  to  the  front,  tight's  a  drum, 
and  the  fourth  aidge  basted  down  so  Mrs.  Wal- 
dron  can  whip  it  up  in  a  hurry.  Though  I'm 
turribly  sorry  we  didn't  get  to  get  that  scarlet 
and  gold  cord  you  hankered  so  for,  Sereny." 

"  'Twould  have  been  mighty  perky !"  sighed 
Mrs.  Dodd.  "Howsomever,  them  big  fluffy 
woolly  tossels  and  the  nice  thick  twisty  cord  off 
your  blanket  wrapper  ain't  to  be  despised!" 

Mrs.  Wells  viewed  the  sofa-cushion  cover  pen- 
sively. "There's  just  one  fault,"  she  hazarded. 
"It's  too  turrible  flat.  Now  if  my  nephew  Peter 
Rawdon — " 

"Don't  you  bother  about  your  nephew  Peter 
Rawdon,  nor  yet  about  my  niece  Lyddy  from  over 
to  Holt,"  admonished  Mrs.  Dodd.  "I'm  a-run- 
ning  this  job,  and,"  with'  ponderous  dignity,  "I  in- 
tend to  plump  out  that  cushion  cover  with  my 
own  bed  pillow!" 

Mrs.  Wells  opened  wide  her  blue  eyes.  "Why 
— why,"  she  stammered,  "what  will  Miss  Timp- 
kins  say?" 

"What  will  Sereny  Dodd's  poor  weary  head 
rest  on  this  night,  you'd  better  ask !"  reproached 
Mrs.  Dodd. 

"This    night!"    repeated    Mrs.    Wells.     "But, 


Sereny,  ain't  you  fearful  Mrs.  Waldron  will 
think  you're  presenting  the  pillow  for  good?" 

"Shan't  'low  her  the  chance,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Dodd.  "You  be  sure  to  tack  a  note  to  the  out- 
side of  the  bundle,  saying  the  pillow  ain't  ours  to 
give,  that  it  belongs  to  the  Home,  and  won't  she 
send  it  back  first  thing  to-morrow  morning!" 

"My,  but  you  are  clever!"  applauded  Mrs. 
Wells.  "But  I'll  plump  out  the  cover  with  my 
pillow,  Sereny.  I'll  fold  up  our  two  petticoats  to 
sleep  on  to-night.  No,  no,"  as  Mrs.  Dodd  would 
have  protested,  "tain't  no  hardship  for  a  scrap  of 
a  thing  like  me!  I'd  just  love  to!" 

Eleven  o'clock  was  striking  when  little  Mrs. 
Wells,  awaking  from  uneasy  slumbers,  sat  up  in 
bed. 

"Ouch!"  said  she.  "Them  sasser  buttons  on 
Sereny's  petticoat  is  some  ann'ying!  It's  lucky," 
giggling,  "her  poor  weary  head's  on  her  pillow  as 
usual." 

A  moment  later,  she  slipped  to  the  floor  and 
padded  quietly  across  to  the  mantel.  Then  scur- 
rying back,  she  cuddled  down  under  the  bedclothes, 
and  murmured  in  great  content : 

"  'It's  more  blessed  to  give  than  receive !'  Se- 
reny and  me's  done  it  faithful.  And  from  the 
feelings  of  them  stockings  of  ours,  jamfull  from 
knee  to  toe,  and  mine  being  the-  littlest,  things 
peeking  out  from  the  top,  seem  zif  other  folkses 
ain't  going  to  lack  the  Christmas  blessing 
neither!"  She  closed  her  soft  blue  eyes.  "Now 


174.          SERENA  AND  SAMANTHA 

I'd  best  go  straight  to  sleep,  so's  to  be  up  bright 
and  early  in  the  morning  to  wish  Sereny  a  Merry 
Christmas  and  Happy  New  Year!" 


THE    END 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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